“The non-mass-man is dead, long live the non-mass-man!
Long live the man who has the courage to be dead, to be what he is:
a third thing, something in between, but yet a nameless thing outside…”
~ Gunnar Ekelöf
Of interest:
Gunnar Ekelof: The Poet as TricksterEarly on, in the first footnote, there is mention of
Abraxas: A Motif of Hermann Hesse and Gunnar Ekelof by Gunilla Bergsten. The problem is that it is in Swedish.
[Abraxas. Ett motiv hos Herman Hesse och Gunnar Ekelöf by Gunilla Bergsten Vol. 85, 1964, s. 5–18]
Abraxas is the name for the highest being of the gnostic creed.
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At
Björn Thegeby's translations, I found the following poem translated from Swedish.
In 1945, Sweden found itself having escaped the horrors of WWII. Relief was mixed with some smugness as the government started building the Swedish welfare state. Ekelöf, who had been both rich and poor revolted against the implied conformity. For him, who had been very early in identifying the threat of Nazism, the individual was at the heart. Non serviam means "I will not serve" and the “seit” is a stone holy to the Sami people in Lapland. I decided to keep the word negro in a poem written in 1945, recognising that Ekelöf identified with the oppressed and the outcasts.
Non serviamJag är en främling i detta land
men detta land är ingen främling i mig!
Jag är inte hemma i detta land
men detta land beter sig som hemma i mig!
Jag har av ett blod som aldrig kan spädas
i mina ådror ett dricksglas fullt!
Och alltid skall juden, lappen, konstnären i mig
söka sin blodsfrändskap: forska i skriften
göra en omväg kring seiten i ödemarken
i ordlös vördnad för någonting bortglömt
jojka mot vinden: Vilde! Neger! –
stångas och klaga mot stenen: Jude! Neger! –
utanför lagen och under lagen:
fången i deras, de vitas, och ändå
-lovad vare min lag! – i min!
Så har jag blivit en främling i detta landet
men detta landet har gjort sig bekvämt i mig!
Jag kan inte leva i detta landet
men detta landet lever som gift i mig!
En gång, i de korta, milda
de fattiga stundernas vilda Sverige
där var mitt land! Det var överallt!
Här, i de långa, välfödda stundernas
trånga, ombonade Sverige
där allting är stängt för drag… är det mig kallt.
Non ServiamI am a stranger in this land
but this land is no stranger within me!
I am not at home in this land
but this land has made itself at home within me!
I have of a blood that is never diluted
there flows in my veins a beaker full!
And always the Jew, the Sami, the artist within me
will look for its blood mates: Research in the records
make a detour around the sacred stone in the wilderness
in wordless awe of something forgotten
chant against wind: Savage! Negro! –
to buck and wail against the stone: Jew! Negro! –
outside the law and under the law:
caught in theirs, the whites’, and still
-praise be to my law! – in mine!
So I have become a stranger in this land
but this land has made itself comfortable in me!
I cannot live in this land
but this land lives like venom in me!
Once, in the short, mild
poverty struck moments’ wild Sweden
there was my land. It was everywhere!
Here, in the long, well-fed moments’
constricted, cosy Sweden
where everything shuts out the draught.. It is cold to me.
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Also from Björn Thegeby's translations:
Gunnar Ekelöf – Guide to the Underworld and more.