[based on the poem «Tragediens Trone» by John Henrik Svaren]
[is translated by the undersigned, and hereby dedicated to Kristoffer Garm Rygg]
Hear!
From this day forth
are the heights of Horeb broken
and the sea of sulphur-ice.
And blasphemy!
in heaven’s chambers:
Souls had fled their halls
and closed was the book of life.
And behold!
The great, white throne:
black
with sacred blood
Our father —
Dead by his own hands:
an epitaph
worthy no king.
And so is everything
a nameless lie.
Who, my god,
am I?
Man knows me
as Lucifer, the serpent of old.
The wretched hold my banner high.
Your gift
— all life! —
I grant a grave
Yet I am not your death.
Come carry forth the crown
to your once held throne.
Here is where my suffering should cease
— but alas; I am crowned
in grief unheard of!
In this lone monarchy
— without a friend of foe —
I greet the mourning sun
with strife and a song:
Please speak my name!
And leave me not
in the dust of death.
I am weighed down
beneath the tragedy crown, —
nameless,
and alone,
a fatherless son.
[JHS 1996]