lördag, september 26, 2009

Urgammal poesi

Läser på Ola Wikanders blogg följande stycke över tre tusen år gammal poesi. Jag får en stark känsla av hur seklerna öppnar sig som en avgrund:

[ʿ]l ḫth . imḫsh .
kd . ʿl . qšth . imḫsh .
‘l . qsʿth . hwt l . ahw .
ap . qšth . l ttn ly .
w bmth . hms srr
prʿ . qz .[ ]
šblt b ġlph


I engelsk översättning:

For his staff I slayed him,
as I slayed him for his bow,
for his arrows I did not let him live.
But his bow was still not given to me,
and by his death the sprout is parched (??),
the first fruits of summer are withered (??),
the ear of corn in its husk.

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