Then it’s the power that wrestles, not you!įrom the enigmatic something moving below, Glimpsed among vaguely fluorescent clouds,
There is no other strength than inner strengthįrom the enigmatic something that moves up there, Perceive and follow each other’s movementsĪbout to be swallowed by the amorphous flow Contrast this with the incisive and serious middle poems. I have concluded that he did this deliberately, luring you in and when you least expect it, gives it you a twist. Ekelöf did after all write lofty, but deliberately bad, poems for the main Swedish humourous publication Grönköpings Veckoblad. It is, formal, written in trimetre and rhymes, but it scans terribly. The first poem, in particular, shows this issue. In comparison with the Diwan trilogy I translated before, the voice is still uncertain, less magisterial. The language is straight and clean, there are major existential themes, but you are never certain whether he is pulling your leg or offering a serious proposition. During the last five months I have worked on this collection. It was Ekelöf’s breakout collection, when he abandoned writing poems in the style of the French surrealists.
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