mandag 15. februar 2010


by Odd Nerdrum

. . . But first Aaron lay

both hands on the goat’s head

. . . the others did the same.

Their sins were placed on the chosen one

. . . now called the scapegoat . . .

ready to be driven out into the desert to


With a red ribbon strung on his

horns…he was chased out into the

desert sand.

The flock hoped to find the goat dead,

a white band around his forehead.

It would absolve them all.


Now the bearer of sins would

suffer sandstorms and thirst.

In time

he would lie down to die…only to rise again

on unstable hoofs, and

stumble on…

Far away, near the foot of a mountain, the

scapegoat found

a cave…with black water

. . . from which he drank.

But within the darkness came the sound of a heavy

bray…a great white goat appeared.

Good evening my son, said the old goat.

The scapegoat did not reply. It turned to leave.

The old one:

You need rest and comfort . . .

You are limping!?

The scapegoat:

I don’t want to talk to you.

The old one:

Can you afford not to?

The scapegoat:

You are just a poor,

dirty goat . . . and your headband

is grey and ragged . . .

God does not approve of you.

I must move on . . . I want to be accepted

by men.

The old one:

By men?

Look at you . . . there . . . in the mud puddle.

You are also a scapegoat – – –

The scapegoat:

But I can see you are doing poorly

. . . for you are alone.

I know I will be happy,

because I believe in justice.

If one just behaves oneself among men,

all will be well.

The old one:

But you have behaved.

It is your beauty that is at

fault. They can see you are a very

special goat. You have therefore been

chosen, by men, to be their scapegoat. . .

They understand little else.

The scapegoat thinks . . . stares . . .

They understand nothing else.

Man cannot hear

the music in your lovely bray,

cannot see the brown sheep curls under your silvery coat,

cannot see the look in those pale yellow goat eyes

that so resemble your mother’s.

Yes, I had . . . many ewes that fall…the year before I was

chosen to be their scapegoat…


The scapegoat lumbers toward the old one,

and rubs up against him.

Oh father!...

The old one:

Now we are two . . .

They brayed with joy.


More scapegoats arrived at the cave…and soon they

were a group

of brave and seasoned goats.

A soldier with a bow and poisoned arrows…creeps

up toward the cave.

At once…

The goats rush out from the darkness and ram the would-be murderer.

He hurries back down to the people.

From that day, no man dared approach

the infamous fortress of goats.

1 kommentar:

  1. a man with a crooked back awakes from a nightmare. he is a librarian. stories adorn his walls, shelved neatly. he is pitied by his neighbors. ashamed, he limps into the night and to the neighbors field. there he finds a bull and goads it into a frenzy. the bull charges and the man stands naked, crippled, and immovable. the bull runs the man down. smiling the man lies broken and happy. the neighbors kill the bull and see to the mans recovery. the man is free to live without shame. the neighbor's pity turns to jealousy and cautious respect. stories are no longer walls in the man's home. instead they are tools. the man sleeps soundly in his broken body.