Edvard Søderberg: Poems of the Street
Yes, life is hard, yes, life is sad
like stony roads; barren and dead –
Accursed, that my old man a late night
fell asleep on my mother’s bed!
Accursed that she loved and held him that night,
and let her maidenhood fall!
This I will hold you accountable for
when the doomsday bells they toll.
Here I must toil in sun and rain
just to gain some schnapps and bread:
a bastard born into beatings and scorn,
who doesn’t care much for the world.
A poor man’s child without house or home
and without a shirt on his back,
who makes a fist when others laugh,
who lives and dies in the street.
All that since one night, just one sole night
in embraces and in passion –
accursed that my father, the beggar he was,
taught my mother sin’s fashion!