due recognition

To My Fingers                                                                                              




          by






   Olav Hauge






 Oh, you fingers,
how many hours you've had
to slave for a cold brain
and a dead body!
And if I didn't write then
you would take to whispering.
Didn't the poems become good then!
When you were speaking with tongues of fire!










(Translated by Robert Hedin)