Sissel Kyrkjebø: "Vår Herres klinkekule" (Erik Bye, Finn Ludt) - 23.12.19 

The Lyrics in Norwegian: Jeg drømte at Vår Herre var en pode med reven brok og skrubbsår på hver legg. Jeg så ham klinke kule med vår klode i muntre sprett mot universets vegg. Han klinket, han var glad og det var sommer og solen tente lyn i farget glass. Og tusen kloder rislet fra hans lommer for i vår Herres lommer er det plass. Og klodene fikk danse, sveve, trille til glede for hans hjerte og hans syn. Så ble han distrahert, og glemte spillet En sommerfugl strøk vingen mot hans bryn! Å for en dag å fange sommerfugler! Det vakreste av alt han hadde skapt. På marken lå Vår Herres klinkekuler og følte seg alene og fortapt. Omsider kom han trett, som alle poder når det er kveld og leken har vært sen. Han lå på kne og samlet sine kloder. Da så han at han hadde mistet en. Den lille blå! Den minste av dem alle! Han lette under gress og sten og hekk. Og den som var så blank i solefallet! Men mørket kom, og kulen den var vekk. Det var vår egen Jord som var blitt borte, og marken lå der nattekald og våt. Og Gud gikk hjem og hutret i sin skjorte. Men jeg kan ikke minnes om han gråt. Og vi som av den lille jord er båren og tror at intet teller uten den, får håpe at Han leter mer i morgen og at Han finner oss igjen. - Erik Bye, 1973

I don't understand a word of Norwegian but this was wonderful!!! Just when I think I've heard every song under the sun, now here's this! Beautiful, Beautiful! Thank you Ms. Sissel! Best wishes to all everywhere on Earth from Mississippi, USA! Stay safe!

Som sagt Sissel gillar jag "klinkekule. Ännu en variant i din repertoar! Fick mig att tänka på Edith Piaf.Tjusigt med för mig nya stilar.

Klinkekule har mycket charm - men som vanligt måste jag gnälla om något. Vår är Sissel talks?

I’m going to Bergon in about three weeks I would like it if I could meet you props and I will chill made of a meal and a joke talk talk❤❤❤❤.

I would like an English translation.

English Translation ======================= I dreamed that Our Lord was a little boy with torn trousers and scratches on each shin. I saw him shooting marbles with our planet in joyful jumps against the wall of the universe. He played marbles, he was happy, and it was summer And the sun, like lightning, lit up the colored marbles. A thousand planets dribbled from his pockets, for in our Lord's pockets there is room. The planets danced, floated, and rolled to the delight of his heart and eyes. Then He got distracted, and He forgot about the game A butterfly brushed its wing against his brow! Oh, what a day to catch butterflies! The most beautiful thing that He had created. Our Lord's marbles lay on the ground, feeling abandoned and lost. At last, he became tired, as boys do when it is evening, and the game has run late. He knelt down and collected all of his planets. Then he saw that he had lost one. The little blue one - the smallest of them all! He searched in the grass, in the gravel and in hedges. This was the one that shone so brightly in the sunset! But the darkness set in, and the marble was lost. It was our own planet Earth that was lost, and the field was cold and wet at night. God went home shivering in his shirt, But I can't remember if he cried. We who are born on this small planet, believing that nothing matters more than it, May dream that He will be searching again tomorrow -- and hope that He will find us.