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Håkan Svensson, the poet. | by Anders Öfverström
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Håkan Svensson, the poet.

Håkan a dear colleague and a great poet passed a way a while ago.

No one knew about his great skills. Like a humble hermit he hide his light.

This passage from a poem of his which deeply touced me was selected to be read at his funeral. I hope that I and other will be able to read more of them in the future. I guess my english does not do it justice.




Earth and heaven melts togheter. Water that washes. Quietly.

Here are life, here somewhere. I have grabbed it, hold it with my both hands.

Someone wrung it out of my hands, or something, propably a long time ago. But it's comming back, at regular intervals it's comming back, like seal heads emerging on the water, under the seagulls, for the sake of oxygen. Small heads, naturally, nothing to spend a thougt on.

But my life.




Swedish version:


Jord och himmel smälter samman. Vatten som sköljer. Tyst.

Här finns liv, här någonstans. Jag har haft tag i det, hållt i det med båda händerna.

Någon vred det ur mina händer, eller något, antagligen för länge sedan. Men det kommer tillbaka, med jämna mellanrum kommer det tillbaka, som sälhuvuden som dyker upp ur vattnet, under fiskmåsarna, för syrets skull. Små huvuden, självklart, inget att ägna en tanke.

Men mitt liv.

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Taken on June 17, 2011