Finding Gunnar Ekelöf

I have "discovered" this Swedish poet thanks to my Swedish friends who have highly recommended my reading his oeuvre. I looked up for translations of his poems. First thing which struck me was his voice: I immediately heard it. I have been told he was a niche, a special poet in the pantheon. Yet, sadly, I couldn't lay my hands on any book by him in English. There was only one edition available in French, found in only one bookshop in Stockholm. How disappointing not to be able to read in Swedish.

Then I scoured the Internet and a few things have turned up.

Poetik

Det är till tystnaden du skall lyssna

tystnaden bakom apostroferingar, allusioner

tystnaden i retoriken

eller i det så kallade formellt fulländade

Detta är sökandet efter ett meningslöst

i det meningsfulla

och omvänt

Och allt vad jag så konstfullt söker dikta

är kontrastvis någonting konstlöst

och hela fyllnaden tom

Vad jag har skrivit

är skrivet mellan raderna

Poetics

It is the silence you’re to listen to

the silence behind quotation marks, allusions

the silence in the rhetoric

or in the so-called formally accomplished

This is the search for what’s meaningless

in the meaningful

and vice versa

And all that I artfully seek to compose

is by way of contrast something artless

and the whole fullness empty

What I have written

is written between the lines

Kinesisk broderi

En eldfågels bo är hjärtat

byggt med kvistar av ådror

fodrat med lågor. Men fågeln

ruvar där i en ännu högre

värme. Från dess bröst och sidor

tycks lågorna vika. Orörd

vilar den på det osynliga ägget

med vingarna fläktande, stjärtens fjädrar

hängande ut över bokanten. Eller den fladdrar

ett ögonblick upp som för att hämta

tankars och bilders insekt, försvinnande

i luftens siden så snart den lyftat

åter synlig först då den åter vilar

i lågorna, slätande sina fjädrar med näbbet.

Chinese embroidery

A firebird’s nest is the heart

built with twigs of veins

nourished with flames. But the bird

broods there in an even greater

heat. From its breast and sides

the flames seem to fall back. Untouched

it rests on the invisible egg

its wings fanning, its tail-feathers

hanging over the nest’s edge. Or it flutters

up for an instant as if to fetch

an insect of thoughts and images, disappearing

into the silk of the air as soon as it has lifted

only visible again when it once more rests

in the flames, smoothing its feathers with its beak.

Both are re-blogged from this site. Then there's also this video of "I do best alone at night":

And finally these two poems:

Yes, I long for home,
Homeless I long for home,
Home to where love is, the one, the good,
Home to my real home!
That home is bright -
In my mind I open the door,
See everything awaiting me there. 

(from 'One after one')

A desolate wind from the city
and nearer, further
the bell's burden, swinging fifths
- it's burning! it's burning! -
of the dread march:
We lived - just then!
We live now not at all,
we shall live - for the firs time!
(from 'Marche funèbre' in Mölna Elegy, 1960)

Both taken from his biography. It's quite long, but worth it. These two poems are fantastic ones - he did put his finger right on the spot.

This last link will direct you to nine poems translated into various languages, taken from various collections spanning 35 years. Simply wonderful.

Problem is: I couldn't find anything else! Now I have to appeal to anyone who knows where copies of his poems can be gotten...please contact me!