"Stuff about Heroes" (Noget om Helte) English translation
From the first to the last time I heard “Noget om Helte” (“Something About Heroes”) by the great Danish poet Halfdan Rasmussen, I am reminded of how living normally becomes demonized by a world in chaos.
The beauty of this song is its relation to the author himself. During WWII, he was a resistance fighter and poet, with raw poems that shout in pain and anger1. Afterwards, he wrote lyrical children’s stories and poetry in a nonsensical form; to me, a reminder that it is okay to not mean anything. That whatever shape the world wants you to be is nonsense, just like this poetry.
Unlike Grieg’s poem, “Noget om Helte” was written ten years after the war.
But like Grieg’s, Rasmussen’s poem is also a key part of my philosophy and has no good translation online. So, once more, I set it upon myself to provide you with my piecemeal translation2:
Something About Heroes
Life’s a gift in the morning, the spirit is a pilgrims’ choir3
There’s crocus in my garden4, there are beers upon my table
Under the clouds lie the lark like a faraway winged seed,
because the lark never thinks whether to fight or to die.
Here it’s peaceful and quiet, there’s no noise or alarm,
I have sown curly parsley, and a letter of lovely chives,
Let the whole world beat itself up and fight mockery with spat,
I want agreement with each other, with myself, and savor life.5
The legend Samson ruined temples, Peter Freuchen6 broke his leg,
Alas against these two examples, my deed is a paltry deed,
I have never killed the Philistines or fought against a shark,
and when strongmen show their anger, I think “what a shame for me.”
There’s enough who plan and ponder on blowing Earth to smithereens,
I don’t want any skirmishes or cannons at my hedge,
But when others sweat and hustle, to beat each other up,
I’ll fiddle with my beets, my celery, and parsnip lot.
I’ve got no wish to fight with bullies, I’ll sow seeds and never fight.
Heck, even the reddest of radishes are worthy of your trust.
There’s enough Danish heroes who are Danish all day long,
and they strut and tighten belts, while they shout; “Bloody hell!”
Time passes and enlists, the greatest men to manly deed.
I, the reserve among reserves, most often burst into tears.
I get migraines and I shiver if I cut myself with a knife,
and I’d rather mow my lawn, than to mow down folk of kind.
Life’s a gift in the morning, the Earth is a lovely earth.
There’s beers in my tummy, and there’s crocus on my table.
When the reserves are called to arms to help split the world apart
I’ll write, with curly parsley, the world’s tiniest epic of valor
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An example Ikke Bødlen. ↩
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If you’re ambitious, my translation is even made to fit with the melody of Robert Normann. ↩
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A reference to “Dejlig er Jorden” (“Lovely is the Earth”), a traditional Nordic poem written in 1850, that exclaims how lovely Earth is, sung by the choirs of the pilgrims. The theory goes that with that pre-war poem, it says that Earth is lovely, but after the war, we must define why the Earth is lovely; hence the rest of Rasmussen’s poem. ↩
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The poem could reference Candide, Voltaire’s philosophical satire where our hero, after many troubles, figures out that what truly matters is to tend your garden and live in the present. ↩
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This, and other lines, hint at the poem’s position in favor of escapism. To me, however, it is about the beauty of the seemingly weak that make society worth waking up to every day. Rather than the Great Men that start wars, the world bears fruit because someone tended their garden, no matter their economic contribution to GDP, the ruination of their country, or the loss of a religion. It is an Epic of the “weak,” something the whole world should remember. I work 80 hour weeks so my fellow people can live in luxury on 15 hour work weeks and enjoy their hobbies. I enjoy my work. There is nothing wrong with prioritizing (active) weakness over strength. With that said, if you wish to be strong, do the right thing. ↩
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Samson’s last act in the Book of Judges was to destroy a temple where the enemies of the Israelites, the Phillistines, were mocking him while praying. Peter Freuchen was a Danish explorer who once dug himself out of an Arctic avalanche with his frozen feces, whereafter he had to get his frostbitten left leg amputated. Insane guy; also escaped a death sentence from the nazis and led expeditions to map Greenland while maintaining Inuit culture. ↩