Hon vars hjärta var som mitt by Göran Greider

Satt jag tyst vid hennes sida, hon vars hjärta var som mitt,
redde hon med mjuka händer ömt vårt bo,
hörde jag mitt hjärta ropa, det du äger är ej ditt,
och jag fördes bort av anden att få ro.
- Omkring tiggarn från Luossa, Dan Andersson

Thoughts and feelings

Wow, I'm two for two on reviewing books by Göran Greider, haha. In fairness, that's because I really love his writing.

This book tells the story of Dan Andersson -- a Swedish poet (and, as it happens, my favorite poet overall) -- and his lover, Märta Larsson. The story is based on historical events, but Greider took the liberty to tell it in a manner that is more akin to a love story. As such, the events depicted may vary in accuracy. This, as far as I'm concerned, was the absolute right decision to make. The end result is incredibly sweet, and really lets the tragedy of it all shine. Besides, there have been many academic retellings of Dan Anderssons life and will likely be more to come. While they most definitely have both a place and a charm, the unique approach really makes this book stick out from the rest.
I know that I've already established my adoration for the way Greider writes, but it has to be properly called out. As I read my annotations it was almost amusing how many times I praised the way the dialogue was built up. I can't recall seeing the exact method of doing it before. Rather than putting line breaks whenever there is a new person talking he keeps it in the same paragraph until there's another reason to break it up. This makes for fast yet smooth transitions between broad descriptions of the conversation and the particulars of it. I do think it's part of why the retelling of the story doesn't feel disrespectful, too. The dialogue feels like it may be suggestions to what happened, since it's less structured. As I re-read some of it now it hits me again how much I enjoy it. It's something I'm likely to pick up for my own writing endeavors.

"De hörde en kyrkklocka slå tolv någonstans därute. Hon grät stilla. Han såg på henne och kände ömhet. Varför gråter du? Jag märkte inte att jag grät. Jo, jag ser tårar. Det finns ingenting vi behöver vara ledsna över just nu, sa han. Jag är glad, sa hon. Hon stramade till anletsdragen och såg sig omkring. Hon tänkte: Såhär ser frihet ut. Vita väggar, lite slitna, och så de där målningarna som med sina dunkla färger på avstånd liknade kyrkfönster i skymningen. Hörde du kyrkklockorna? Klockan måste vara tolv. Jag är hungrig."

"They heard a church bell strike twelve somewhere out there. She cried quietly. He looked at her and felt affection. Why are you crying? I didn't notice I was crying. You are, I see tears. There is nothing we need to be sad about right now, he said. I am happy, she said. She composed her expression and looked around. She thought: This is what freedom looks like. White walls, somewhat worn, and those paintings that look a bit like church windows at sunset, with their dusky colors. Did you hear the church bells? It must be noon. I am hungry."

Mind you, it's hard to do the original text justice - especially when trying to work somewhat fast. Take my translations with a grain of salt.

As for the characterisation of Dan and Märta, it's hard to say too much seeing as they were real people. Greider included letters they sent in the book (I'm assuming most were true to the letters he found while researching. At least one is a scan of the real deal.) which really added a dimension and made it clear that the characterisation at the very least wasn't noticeably inaccurate. In the end we find ourselves with two deeply human characters. They have flaws but make you love them all the more for it. Especially considering that, well, they were human. Of course they will have flaws. I repeatedly found myself cringing at Dan's bizarre treatment of Märta, and her lack of understanding for his life situation. Yet, as I said, I kept firmly cheering them both on. As in most romance books, I was full-on squealing at every success.
Now, before I go on much further I'll give some short context to the life Dan Andersson led: He came from a poor and very religious family. His writing is mostly about the area around his home or deep tragedies -- I have seen many discussions of whether he was mentally unwell, and if so in what ways. These discussions tend to culminate at his early death. It's often pointed out very specifically that it was not his own doing. Though he became one of the most beloved poets in Swedish history, he did lead a life of struggle. So, now that you know that, let's go on.
I found the depiction of poverty to be very well-done. It pointed out the constant discomfort and struggle, whilst simultaneously showing that even then there's a life being lived. Hell, sometimes one can even romanticize it. Sometimes being the key word. It gets draining in the end. This to say, that I found the depiction to be straight to the point, and that it did not veer into the category of misery porn. I feel similarly about the way Dan's mental health was written. It was clear that some decisions he made were irrational, yet we -- or I, at least -- didn't feel like Dan was made out to be bad for that sake. The parts I found to resonate very deeply was the way one feels in the summer, when strapped for money yet so incredibly alive. Sure, I may have skipped a meal or two before I got paid (oops, I've learned haha), but have you seen the sky today? The wind blowing freely in your hair and the grass between your toes? No, sometimes it feels better to have no money and wander around than to have more money than you need and be stuck inside.

"Det var nära midnatt. Han hade sett solen gå ner mot bergen i en svinlande röd ros, men sommarnatten var ljummen och han kände sig lätt till sinnes. Det gjorde han alltid när han gav sig ut på de här långa strövtågen i finnmarken. Att slippa gå därhemma och otåligt vänta på brev. Slippa föräldrarna och syskonen. Slippa tänka på de eviga pengabekymren, ty här ute betydde sådant plötsligt ingenting. Imorgon kunde han styra stegen till vänner och bekanta i gårdarna bara en halv mil bort. Språka en stund, långt bortom städer, världskrig, tid."

"It was nearing midnight. He had seen the sun set against the mountains in a dizzying red rose, but the summer night was lukewarm and his heart did not feel heavy. It never did when he went out on these long meandering walks in the finnmark [a name for the area he lived in]. To not have to be stuck at home, impatiently waiting for letters. To not have to deal with parents and siblings. To not have to think about the eternal money troubles, as none of that meant anything out here. Tomorrow, he could head to friends and acquaintances in the farmsteads half a mile away. Speak for a bit, far from cities, world wars, time."

Quotes

There are many other things I'd love to discuss in this book, ranging from the idea of "making your life into a piece of art" to whether we've lost touch with nature and what it is that truly makes us human. However, it'd feel a bit disingenuous to do that here, seeing as I'd only be using the book as a springboard for my own musings -- these things are mainly mentioned in passing. For now, let's just appreciate my favorite quotes:

"En kväll i november, inte många veckor efter hans försenade ankomst till Brunnsvik, insåg han det: han hade blivit förälskad i denna Märta. Det irriterade honom."

"One November night, not too long after his late arrival to Brunnsvik, did he realize it: he had fallen in love with this Märta. It annoyed him."

"Jag har hela bordet fullt av blommor och böcker."

"My entire table is covered in flowers and books."

"Vindsrummet var han särskilt nöjd med, fastän det var litet."

"He was especially happy with the attic room, even though it was small."

This reminds me of my own bedroom, which sits at slightly less than three square meters. I love it.

"Han och Niklas brukade ständigt prata om det: allt det som kallas vidskepelse men som egentligen vittnar om att vi är så mycket mer än biologiska urverk."

"He and Niklas would constantly talk about it: all that was called superstition, but actually shows that we are so much more than biological machines."

Final thoughts

It has been a bit since I read this book, so I can actually say it's influenced me pretty heavily. I was very glad to come back to it now, and know for a fact that I'll read it again. Possibly as early as this summer. Once I do I may come back to this page and add or change some parts -- we'll see. If you can get your hands on it I highly recommend reading this book, and if not I recommend reading any and all of Dan Andersson's poems. For now, I leave you off with the rest of Omkring tiggarn från Luossa, as well as an attempt at a translation of it... I do recommend listening to the link if you do read my attempt, though, haha.

Omkring tiggarn från Luossa satt allt folket i en ring,
och vid lägerelden hörde de hans sång.
Och om bettlare och vägmän och om underbara ting,
och om sin längtan sjöng han hela natten lång:

Around the beggar from Luossa sat the people in a ring
and by the firelight they listened to his song.
And of bums and of roadmen and of wonderful things
and of his longing he sang all night long:

»Det är något bortom bergen, bortom blommorna och sången,
det är något bakom stjärnor, bakom heta hjärtat mitt.
Hören – något går och viskar, går och lockar mig och beder:
Kom till oss, ty denna jorden den är icke riket ditt!

"There's something beyond the mountains, beyond the flowers and song
there's something behind stars, beyond the burning heart of mine.
Hear - something whispers to me, calling, it begs me to come:
Come to us, because this earth is not where you belong!

Jag har lyssnat till de stillsamma böljeslag mot strand,
om de vildaste havens vila har jag drömt.
Och i anden har jag ilat mot de formlösa land,
där det käraste vi kände skall bli glömt.

I have listened to the waves as they crash against the land,
I have dreamt the wildest seas have come to rest.
And my spirit has run towards the shapeless lands,
where the things we love the most we shall forget.

Till en vild och evig längtan föddes vi av mödrar bleka,
ur bekymrens födselvånda steg vårt första jämmerljud.
Slängdes vi på berg och slätter för att tumla om och leka,
och vi lekte älg och lejon, fjäril, tiggare och gud.

To a wild and endless longing we were born by mothers pale,
from the birthing pains of struggle came our first crying wail.
We were thrown to hill and valley to fumble and to play,
and we played elk and lion, butterfly, beggars and gods.

Satt jag tyst vid hennes sida, hon, vars hjärta var som mitt,
redde hon med mjuka händer ömt vårt bo,
hörde jag mitt hjärta ropa, det du äger är ej ditt,
och jag fördes bort av anden att få ro.

I sat silent by her side, she whose heart was like mine,
with care her soft hands tended to our home,
and I heard my heart calling, what you own is not yours,
so the spirit took me from her to rest.

Det jag älskar, det är bortom och fördolt i dunkelt fjärran,
och min rätta väg är hög och underbar.
Och jag lockas mitt i larmet till att bedja inför Herran:
’Tag all jorden bort, jag äga vill vad ingen, ingen har!’

What I love, it is gone, and hidden in the past
and my true route is high and wonderful.
And in the chaos I am called to pray to our father:
'Take the world, for what I want, nobody can hold!'

Följ mig, broder, bortom bergen, med de stilla svala floder,
där allt havet somnar långsamt inom bergomkransad bädd.
Någonstädes bortom himlen är mitt hem, har jag min moder,
mitt i guldomstänkta dimmor i en rosenmantel klädd.

Come now brother, beyond the mountains, with the cold and calm rivers,
where the oceans slumber slowly in a mountainous bed.
Somewhere beyond the skies is my home, is my mother,
among golden mists, in a cape of roses clad.

Må de svarta salta vatten svalka kinder feberröda,
må vi vara mil från livet innan morgonen är full!
Ej av denna världen var jag och oändlig vedermöda
led jag för min oro, otro, och min heta kärleks skull.

May the black and salty waters chill cheeks from fevers red,
may we be miles from this life before the morning she comes!
I am not of this world, and my eternal tribulation
I suffered for my worry, lack of fate and for my love.

Vid en snäckbesållad havsstrand står en port av rosor tunga,
där i vila multna vraken och de trötta män få ro.
Aldrig hörda höga sånger likt fiolers ekon sjunga
under valv där evigt unga barn av saligheten bo.»

By a shell-covered seashore stands a gate of heavy roses,
therein lay the wrecked ships and the tired men may rest.
Ne'er heard loud singing, like the echo of a melody
under canopies where ever-young children of the holy go."

I did take some creative liberties to make the melodies work somewhat well, but hopefully the general idea came across well enough. Some parts don't work as well as I'd like, but honestly, It's past midnight and I have work and such in the morning. Maybe I'll come back to it. For now, take care.

Later edit: American reacts to the version by Hootenanny singers :)