1917

which calls to mind the fair-haired image
of Northern man.
But Northern skalds are crude,
don’t know the joy of games,
and Northern warriors are fond
of amber, feasts and flames.
They’ll never taste the Southern air—
enchanted foreign skies—
and so the stubborn maiden
will refuse their wine.
DECEMBER 1917
(Translated by Boris Dralyuk)

which calls to mind the fair-haired image
of Northern man.
But Northern skalds are crude,
don’t know the joy of games,
and Northern warriors are fond
of amber, feasts and flames.
They’ll never taste the Southern air—
enchanted foreign skies—
and so the stubborn maiden
will refuse their wine.
DECEMBER 1917
(Translated by Boris Dralyuk)

In public and behind closed doors we slowly
lose our minds,
and then the brutal winter offers us
clean, cold Rhine wine.
The chill extends to us, in silver buckets,
Valhalla’s wine,