Munch-Petersen, Gustaf Uddrag fra to the body of my music

you speechless, useless
thing,
which alone, in spite of all,
I can love -,
what are you
really -?
are you just a trumpet,
you thing of my love -?
are you just a talon *

,
you beloved thing of my anger -?
or just an unused knife,
you beloved thing of my pride -?
what are you,
are you anything
real at all -?
come on,
you speechless, useless thing,
come on,
you which alone, in spite of all,
I can love -,
let us blow in your stupid trumpet,
let us tear with those insane talons,
let us use, then, this unused knife -,
come on, you -,
help me
to destroy
this human heart of barrenness *
loitering * through all time
in this wonderful piece
of nature -,
come on now,
you -,
whatever you may be then
really -!