Roll in thou deep

 I am a burrito!

With Tellus and McGhee, I walked along Macklin Street, toward the superinfirmary of Saint Labiscus O’Claire.  We all walked together, hand in hand.

Tellus was the one who made the cry about being a burrito.  It was like he just discovered something about himself.  It was an ephiphany.

So I related to Tellus (and McGhee) the entire story of my relationship origin story with Lord Byron’s poem Child Harold’s Pilgrimage, specifically the concluding stanzas regarding the Ocean, or Sea, what you will.  And I first met those stanzas in their Norwegian Form:

Rull hen du dype hav rull hen din prakt
Forgjeves kløver tusen skib ditt bryst
På jorden herjer mannen men hans makt
Er endt ved stranden utenfor hans kyst
Er alle vrak ditt verk hans herjelyst
Blir av en større kraft tilintetgjort
Idet han som et regndrypp synker tyst
I dine dyp hvor han forstummer fort
Og ukjent uten grav og kiste svinner bort

Hans fot kan ikke trå din sti - og du
Vil aldri bli hans rov du er på vakt
Og ryster hånlig av deg ham som nu
Gjør alt for å få jorden ødelagt
Du slynger ham mot himlen i forakt
Han skjelver i ditt frådville vær
Og hyler mot sin gud fra dødens sjakt
I usselt håp om at en havn er nær
Du slår ham atter ned - og lar ham ligge der

Imperier går under - du består
Hva er vel nu Athen Kartago Rom
Du skyllet makt til dem i deres vår
Og til enhver tyrann barbarer kom
Og tvang dem ned i kne - et forfall som
La riker øde - du alene har
Bestandighet skjønt bølger hvirvler om
Er din azurblå panne like klar
Du er i dag som du i tidens morgen var

Translated into Norwegian by Andre Bjerke

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