(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)