torsdag 2 december 2010

The Northlandic Strain


Sweden is divided into three parts: Götaland in the south, Svealand in the middle and Norrland in the north.

As for myself I live in Norrland. I live in the county of Angermanland by the Bothnian Sea. And some 40 years ago I was born in the county of Lapland, situated inland and to the north-west of Angermanland.

Both Lapland and Angermanland are northern provinces. They are both part of NORRLAND. Now this Norrland is a mythical part of Sweden just like Scotland of the Bristish Isles or, say, Texas or some other rough-hewn part of the U. S.

I'm a Northlander. "En norrlänning" as we say. And many Swedes from Göta- and Svealand wish they were Northlanders. They envy us our Biblical erudition, a classic trait here: archaic tales of Northland farmers citing the Bible ever and anon, that's a fine heritage of ours.

Example of Svealand people wishing they were Northlanders are the poet Gunnar Ekelöf and the sculptor Anders Åberg. The former wrote some poems about the log cabins, the rosy hue of the winter evenings and the waves beating the shores of the Laplandic lakes. The latter, Anders Åberg, was born in Stockholm but moved to Angermanland some years ago, starting a cultural theme park called MANNAMINNE. It's got old buildings, a tramway, a museum etc. It's a life-size piece of art, mirroring the wooden objets d'art of a more manageable size that made him famous in the first place. One of these are to be seen at Arlanda Domestic Airport ("Inrikes"), showcasing the nearby town of Sigtuna in a pillar of wooden houses.

Anyhoo: Mr. Åberg fell in love with Norrland and then moved here, and now he's a local hero. Mannaminne is a focal point for culture and goodtime, for "believing in your heritage" and all that, a fine mix of traditionalism and modernism, built log by log by Mr. Åberg himself. I must go and visit that Mannaminne some time. Website here.

So how shall I conclude this? Well, as an illustration of my Northlandic strain I might give you a poem about my Laplandic creed, called "My voyage". It's got some references to Carlos Castaneda, a great traditionalist in his own right.

My voyage began in the heart of Lapland
among drumming noids and yoiking saamis.

I danced to the rythm, sang to the northern light,
praised my creator and began my journey.

I lived among the flowers and the trees,
I read about gurus past and present,
and skimming the shelves of fantastic libraries
I found the Book of Books.

It was about a man in the moon
who flew with crows, talked
with lizards and danced with Zacateca.

He jumped into an abyss, listened
to the flowers and talked with
a coyote. He was human.

The voyage continues. In the misty Andees
there is a beverage called "the black gold";
I have drunken it - and I have seen the promised land...

I'm just a human - I'm just a human -
I'm just a human - I'm just a human being...

Every day I brew some of that fluent gold
on my Brewmatic, and dream of condors
and eagles, silver crows, and giant butterflies
with golden dust on their wings.

My collection of Castaneda books dwells safely
on my shelf. The Laplandic sceneries of my youth
is always with me. The black gold is still worth seeking.

The voyage continues...

torsdag 11 november 2010

November


It's November and here in Sweden the snow has arrived. I must say, I like it. It's kind of cosy, never mind the cold and the wind.

Winter's here but in my heart it's spring. Funny feeling but it's true.

So, what's more on my mind today? Maybe I should publish some deathless fiction, some enchanting story by my hand? I have forsooth a lot of juicy stuff on the harddrive. But, then again, I've already published some great work already. Like earlier this year, I had a piece in Morpheus Tales. So why don't I link to that one instad? Yeah, that I'll do. So here it is, a post on my Swedish blog, however with the exact same text that was printed in Morpheus Tales' paper edition. Enjoy.

Other than that, I've added a gadget for "most read entries" on this blog. See the right margin. And it gladdens me that my short story "A 14th Century Tale" is in the lead. I think it has got something to do with linking it to a comment of mine at Alternative Right, but hey, you never know. Maybe people google the net for "14th century tales" and voilà, there's my story and they rush to read it. Who knows. This blog has some readers though, that's for sure, without my really trying to push it, advertise and proclaim its uniqueness all over the net.

tisdag 26 oktober 2010

Home Sweet Hell (poem)

Living in this town is what I do: I live and breathe, I sing my song, eat my food and say my prayers.

Then sometimes...

It's like, you know...

How shall I put it? Maybe like this:

Home sweet hell: it’s time to wake,
another day has just begun.
It’s time to fight, fight the demons in my room:
ghouls and crows, monsters, orcs and more.

That’s how it is, yea verily:
I fight the demons in my mind.
So I fight, I slay, I kill ’em all
but more and more come rolling on
like neverending Hordes of Hell.

Then I think: get rythm, man!
My rythm is the way to win.
I’m still, I breathe, I dance along,
I dance along the blade’s edge.
I cut down demons, cut down orcs,
impaling monsters on my sword.

I clear the air from flying hellspawn;
breathing calmly, victory’s mine!
I took control, I’ve killed the demons,
have forced them all to move like me,
move it to the Svensson-rythm.
I’ve carried the day, won the battle –
but it all begins anew tomorrow...