Sample Poems

All the poems in Stoft  Dust of Our Being are in Swedish, on the left side of the page, and English on the right side.

The poems are matched, stanza by stanza in each language.

 

Grandpa used a device called a 'kenning' in his poetry:  a metaphorical compound word used in Old English, Celtic or Old Norse poetry. So when he dedicated his poetry to his wife, Maj-Lis, he wrote: 

"To Maj-Lis .... my genius and inspiration during thorn-strewn flightpaths of hardship... with gratitude and devotion.  - Arthur"    

'Flightpaths' is describing a journey in a physical, mental and spiritual sense.

 

Alstrad Av Intet Blev Du.
Bred Out of Nothing You Were

BRED OUT OF NOTHING YOU WERE.
FROM FAR TOWARD NOTHING YOU DRIFTED.
NOTHING FROM EVERYTHING IS YOUR BIRTH
PURSUIT AND BITTER WORK.

 

NOTHING IS TODAY’S JOY.
NOTHING IS HOPE’S ILLUSION,
FOR WHAT IS BRIGHTLY DREAMING
IS STILL IN SOIL HIDDEN.

 

BUT FROM THE DUST OF YOUR ATOMS
IS FORGED BY SILENT GNOMES,
BACK INTO THE FORGE OF BEING,
LINKS INTO NOTHING’S CHAIN.

 

Do You Remember?
Minns Du?

ALSTRAD AV INTET BLEV DU.

FJÄRRAN MOT INTET DREV DU.

INTET ÄR ALL DIN SNÖDA

ÄVLAN OCH BITTRA MÖDA.

 

INTET ÄR DAGENS FÄGRING.

INTET ÄR HOPPETS HÄGRING,

TY VAD SOM LJUSAST DRÖMMES

ÄNDOCK I MULLEN GÖMMES.

 

MEN AV DITT STOFTS ATOMER

SMIDES AV TYSTA GNOMER,

ÅTER I VARATS SMEDJA,

LÄNKAR I INTETS KEDJA.

 

Do you remember, little Lisa, moments passed by?
Do you not long back, like I
to the paths of childhood’s glades,
the rosy, healthy joy of play?
Little Lisa, dream girl with golden yellow braids,
do you remember our childish bickering?
Do you remember, little Lisa, the days of our childhood?

 

Can you still hear the giants rage
over by the mountain, where the evening sun died?
Does not the glow of fire in the nights of May
still shine as magically over the forest of home?
Do you remember that time, when in a happy hide-and-seek
I wanted to kiss you? Can you forget that,
little Lisa, girl of May? – I still remember.

 

Seriousness blasted the happy clan.
I went west and you remained in the east.
Though mighty and wicked the ocean roils,
I still hear your playful voice.
Wondering if you, where you struggle and strive,
fetch, like I, from the days of our youth,
little Lisa, glorious and healing comfort.

 

Minnes du, Lisa-lill, hänfarna stunder?

Längtar du icke tillbaka som jag

till våra stigar i barndomens lunder,

lekarnes rosiga, friska behag?

Lisa-lill, drömtös med guldgula flätor,

minnes du än våra barnsliga trätor?

Minnes du, Lisa-lill, barndomens dag?

 

Hör du ännu huru jättarna rasa

borta vid fjället, där kvällssolen dog?

Lyser ej skenet fråm majnattens brasa

än lika trolskt över hembygdens skog?

Minns du den gång, då i glatt kurragömma

jag ville kyssa dig?  Kan du det glömma,

Lisa-lill, majtös? – Jag minnes det nog.

 

Allvaret sprängde den lyckliga klanen.

Jag gick åt väster och du blev i öst.

Rullar den mäktig och vred, oceanen,

hör jag dock ännu din skojfriska röst.

Undrar om du, där du kämpar och strider

hämtar, som jag, ifrån barndomens tider,

Lisa-lill, ljuvlig och helande tröst.