The Army of Truth: Selected Poems

Wanton Weeds

“Now, farewell!” said my friend one summer evening when we had gone out for some air after one of our frequent discussions on the coming of the Jews to Norway. “This will have to be the last time! But, Brother, what kind of a flower bed have you got here? Nothing but weeds except for that sunflower! Thistle, poppy, toadflax, burdock, great mullein and henbane, for heaven’s sake. Though something could probably be made of that plot, just as it could of Norway, if you just cleared away all those stones. It’s a little Norway, neglected and full of weeds.” My friend’s objections to the Jews annoyed me so much that I could not fall asleep. So I went downstairs and outside, where I sat on the ground. It was approaching dawn in the month of June. But what should I see and hear! As the first red line ran along the hilltops I heard a sound close by like a faint clapping of hands and I saw the sunflower opening its manifold ear-shaped petals and seeming of its own accord to turn them this way and that to listen. But its aim was to wake the plants sleeping around it on the rocky slope; for immediately there sounded, in a voice like a kind of Jew’s harp, the sunflower Well, I never! It’s two o’clock; Everyone is still fast asleep. But if I’m not too much mistaken through narrowed eyes what do I see in the garden all around me but a wide-awake morning dame strutting about. That’s right! Goodmorrow, Marigold, my dame! Here where I stand in my cursed place, Wanton Weeds since my master drew from out of his pocket just my little seed, which he then set down in this place where I could not avoid being with the very worst company—just look here, while I have watched since the mountain crests glowed with the first pale rose-red sheen, these wretches around me soundly slept! Poppy, wake up, you sleepy Hound! Toadflax, make use of your gaping Mouth! Mullein, leave off your nodding! Henbane, you troll, drunk since last night dazed with the liquor mixed with the poison, that you know well how to suck out of the stoniest cracks— away with a drop from your cup, Burdock, lurking hunter! Thistle, hey! Just you give the white Campion a nudge in the side! Wake up each other, then you will see enacted in play a satiric idea. This moment’s our time. You know that it’s brief: Only from daybreak on the hilltop until the first ray of sunlight breaks out. Then quickly get started! But—confounded misfortune! Isn’t that our Master sitting there? He’ll tear me up by all my roots if he’s heard my ingratitude, my moaning over how I’ve come to be here (where at least I’m ruler) to make my entrance out of the earth, when otherwise it is true enough that I’d have died off in his pocket. 34 Wanton Weeds Quiet! Here we must be crafty. Bindweed, just you sneak over there! His pipe is lying on his knee, so I’m pretty sure he’s dozing. Just to test him, give him, Mullein, a little tap upon the back of his hand’s soft level surface with your gray flannel leaves! . . . Ah! He can surely stand a rap, so I can dare to mount my play. Do you see all these my hundred ears, all so finely gilded, always filled with the latest news that they’ve snapped up here and there? For example, just last evening I picked up with them in amazement, the hours and hours of conversation of our master and his friend until both of them were utterly spent, and parted with a weary farewell. But what can never be forgotten is that this friend, the bitter, bad one came to resemble this rocky slope, as may be some wild vegetation may have spread itself there too in his country and his nation. Now! For us it well may be the greatest honor. So therefore let us imitate what I heard then may quite well happen in Norway, the land of freedom! We’ll create a little Norway here from one end of our slope to its other infertile edge! Wanton Weeds 35 Now...