Other Words Poetry Festival

Steinar Obstad
Norway

Steinar Opstad was born in 1971 in Stokke, Norway, and lives in Oslo. He studied German, History of Religion
and World Literature at the University of Oslo and the University of Bergen. His first volume of poems, Tablets and
Commandments, came in 1996 and was followed by The Common (1998), Illiterate (2000), Alphabet and
Memory (2002) and Gather in the Axes for the Night (2005). He is the editor of the anthologies Soft glass
(2000) and But Truth came in the form of a Poem (2003). He is also a keen debater, in the daily press, in
periodicals and in books.

Steinar Opstad has won several prestigeous literary prizes, from his debut in 1996 until present. His translator from
Norwegian to English is the renowned British poet Anthony Barnett.

website:more about the poet

Den som helliggjør kjærligheten Den som helliggjør kjærligheten, forlater den Den som forbanner den, blir kjærlighetens apostel Men ingen har noen gang blitt mer levende enn sin kjærlighet og sin håpløshet Avmektig i det å elske står jeg utenfor og samler bokstaver og risser navn på veggen mens jeg teller årene i forsakelse Også sjelene lever i samfunn og historien er full av vitner Men i kjærligheten bærer vi forbrytelsens kors	xxxxxxxxxxx	Those who sanctify love Those who sanctify love, forsake love Those who curse love, become an apostle of love But no one has ever become more alive than his love and his hopelessness Thus powerless to love I am an outsider who gathers letters who carves names on the wall while counting the years of renunciation Souls also live in societies and history is filled with witnesses But in this our love we carry the cross of transgression Translation by Anthony Barnett

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Hvem kan stave måke riktig Når den flyr forbi vinduet svir skyggen i øynene Byggnek henger på veggene: jeg slikker vekk krittet fjerner en bokstav den gode fargen rundt hånden som skrev Halm og måkeskygge, mørkt svelg; klokkelyden i korn		Who can spell gull correctly When it flies past the window shadows smart the eyes Barley sheaves hang on the walls: I lick away the chalk remove a letter the good colour round the hand that wrote Straw and gull shadow, dark gullet; bell sound in grain Translation by Anthony Barnett

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Kveldssol skinner over pappa Døgnet, den valsen, klarer å favne ham til tross for at han er så vertikal som en far kan bli Hver vår slanker han morbærtreet med øks henviser det til å gro litt over mot venstre der en bekk er gravd igjen, en miniatyr av den store elven øynene hans alltid har prist, og priser		The evening sun shines on papa Day and night, that waltz, manages to embrace him even though he’s as vertical as a father can be Each spring he cuts back the mulberry tree with an axe forcing it to grow a little to the left where a beck has been dug over a miniature of the great river his eyes have always praised, and praise Translation by Anthony Barnett

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To mellom trærne Jeg skjønner at for mange ord går utover figurligheten i språket og jeg har ingen innsikt i trær i stedet opptar rollene meg – når jeg samler meg for å skrive kan jeg da bli straffet Skylden til alle som er født er stor, sier moren min Han jeg går sammen med sier at han vet at jeg ikke vil være alene I begynnelsen er det også to, sier han Ja, det er sånn alt begynner, sier jeg og han snur ansiktet og prøver å se inn i munnen min men det er en munn, ikke et evangelium og bare noen kunne klappe i denne stillheten, tenker jeg og ser på håret hans og det mangelfulle ansiktet Til slutt er det jeg som klapper og han smiler		Two Among the Trees I understand that too many words affect the figurativeness of language I have no insight into trees instead roles are what interest me – when I collect myself to write can I then be punished The guilt of all who are born is great, my mother says The person I am with says he knows I do not want to be alone In the beginning there were two too, he says Yes, that’s how everything begins, I say and he turns his face and tries to look into my mouth but it is a mouth, not a gospel and if only someone would clap in this silence, I’m thinking and looking at his hair and his imperfect face Finally I am the one who claps and he smiles Translation by Anthony Barnett