Gustaf Munch-Petersen: The Lowest Country

a sunday morning

you gave blood

to your most beloved dream –


your body sang of great happiness –,

the dream died –,

and you gave birth to me –


mother, the dead –,

the dream –

it was me, you gave birth to –,

o you gave your blood to the dream –

- - -

mother –!

blood –!

my heart is not of stone –

my heart


not of stone –


o, I see –:

blood is not delightful loving –

blood – blood

is copper-chains –


- - - |


dear mother –, not am I the dream –

mother – why does your eternally restless fingers twine

patient loops –

for me –?

why do your soul’s eyes see

always watchful

endless fields, white with bones –?

why does eagle-back bend knees

to unworthy gods –?

why do you cry – mother –

for me –?

dear mother –,

did you not see, that the dream died –?

- - -

my mother –!

beloved – rise –

see the way –!

(o don’t always see

the bottles

laughing women

hunger –

do not see the gravel, the stones –)

see the way –!

see the way, which I travel, whom you gave birth to

the sunday, when your lap was the singing mouth of life –


- - - |


mother – why do you wish for me



invincibility –?

give me power, mother –,

out of the courage, you got

that sunday –,

when you didn’t see,

that your most beautiful dream died –

and mother – mother


when I have found the tail of the way

deep inside the lowest country,

we shall meet

and like a double droplet dissolve into the lake,

which is the eye of life –!

dear mother –

- - -

o, mother –

that you gave the dream your blood –

o, poor, beloved mother –

great mother –