[M]ånga hoppas och tror på en kvinnlig vinnare. Bland kandidaterna finns det särskilt en som många talar om: den danska poeten Inger Christensen.

Many are hoping for and expecting a female winner. Among the candidates there is one in particular that many are talking about: the Danish poet Inger Christensen.

It’s over then You cowardly dogs
you proud, cultured and exalted men with your gentle eyes
and measured gestures and fulsome sentiment
now you spit at me and as from a pulpit
shout Traitor Dirty filthy traitor
For thirty pieces of silver for one night with a whore
he robbed the world of its Light robbed us of the Teacher
You rats Where did you scuttle
as they led Him to Golgotha Where did you shake
with liquid-bellied fear Where in your confusion did you
throw your badges and how many of you like Peter
denied Him thrice You sanctimonious weaklings
did I not offer you
a sword Did you not flee from a mere dozen men
Did even one of you His darlings and His brothers
attempt to shield Him with your own body
Or afterwards when He was tortured in his cell
did you go out among the people calling for help
Were not the people able to decide Surely the people
could have said No to Pilate Let Him be our King
You pharisees You wanted Him
killed For on the corpse the still warm corpse
you built a temple where you would be kings…
           I’m off
to find a stout branch
and one that’s seen so that Jerusalem
shall have its three-day giggle I who alone
was worthy of a place beside Him or after Him
I who had a sense
of tactics and strategy I who did not shrink from
stealing lying even garroting
for a Sacred Cause I who understood
that I was to use the funds
even for tricks and corruption I who longed
to multiply our property and secretly buy weapons I
who realised that the Master’s whole repertoire
of childish miracles and deeds of human kindness
was useless stuff today That today the Teaching
must be propagated by the swifter language of arrow and battle-axe
                And I
had a plan I wanted
the Master to be taken and held in the worst of
dungeons That’s why I thought up
the crown of thorns so that the mob should see
the red drops That’s why I advocated
heavier beams for the cross That’s why I egged on
that crowd of layabouts to line
the road to Calvary And lastly that’s why
I got on to the high priest…
              How
he was to have been outwitted For I
relied on you you gentle vipers
to use the power of the Word to unleash in the crowd
a protest a longing for revenge a longing for murder
I hoped that apathetic mob would sharpen their knives
pick up the stones that there’d be a slaughter
which would burn Jerusalem to the ground and like a blind dog
race across the frontiers
the enemy would be routed and – why not admit it – a good few
of our friends would inevitably die
But what of it I would unite the survivors
in a great everlasting happy realm of the Faith
O the Master knew well the strength inside me And he realised
that I am more consistent that I am more apt
to propagate the Light for He
had but a name Otherwise a simpleton
and also alas a coward That’s why He feared me
and would rather go
meekly like a lamb to the slaughter
Not only you but He too
lost me my fight and betrayed…
              But the traitor for eternity
for the record of history which as always
has the last laugh that’s to be my role
I blood-brother to Cain who was wiser
and braver than the rest for he was not afraid of murder
who was by your forefathers as I am today by you
branded with the mark I’m off now
I don’t want to live like an outcast
despised I’m off
That hill up there
looks suitable
All I need is a branch
I have a rope

Josef Hanzlik, 1967