Look! Blackened Lager is an actual thing!
This was really good fun: the prompt today was to find a poem in a language other than English – a language you don’t know – then to translate it by sound. So not to think about what the words mean, just what they sound like, in English.
It’s actually a wonderful way of showing musicality in poetry and one I might use in workshops or schools in future! So thanks for that, NaPoWriMo.
So on to my attempt, which either says something about Danish, or about me…It seems like it’s about booze, Satan, chocolate and has a lot of exclamations…
You can read the original here and decide whether it bears any resemblance to the Danish poem in sound-terms. And judge for yourself what it says about me as a poet!
Apple ‘Til Blackened Lager
Yet, pledged at Bruges, ordered Smarties:
some Norman caller. Come on, cockerel
vast: here or stooping hill.
Oh! Ever the arse lies set, far-fetched,
pah! Taller can earn her,
‘til, at lignin, gamble cosmetics.
Oh! Man can litter husks, had Satan in heather,
on her repaired cooking-vase,
ordered no blackened lager
(ending welder’s singing).
Ha! Honed forest, tidy home – end, part-timer
or come here, at part-timer’s fur scent.
Oh Satan’s liver debt – still, after lithesome,
after all of the angered daggers,
man guards its boiled ravens.
Alone, or seen in film, man has gleamed
longer, for cooking masks in
gore. I stake her nest gang,
sew the gun, her cabbage and go home –
or linger vaguely in mourning.
Oh tanker – pah! All dead androids
man ogles must brutally Alt + Delete
the Kit-Kat: all of them.
Their forced hand, forky, did lick the
villa – varied, mad – so that
masks all in given error
did heed her smarter.