Dan Andersson (1888-1930) is one of Sweden´s most beloved poets. His poems, full of naturalist mysticism and search for God, appeal also to younger generations of Swedes. Many of his poems have been set to music and recorded by such artists as Björn Ulvaeus (ABBA), Sofia Karlsson, Gunde Johansson and Fred Åkerström.
My own favourite Dan Andersson interpreter is Thorstein Bergman, who´s recording of Dan Andersson´s moving poem The Beggar from Luossa is featured above.
Translated by Caroline Schleef
From Luossa came a beggar singing to the village folk.
Round the watch fire they lingered while he sang
Songs of pilgrims and of beggars, song of wondrous, wondrous things
And of his yearning did he sing the whole night long
"There is something beyond mountains, beyond stars and all the blossoms,
Something, too, behind my song, behind this burning heart of mine
Listen — something goes and whispers, goes and lures me and beseeches
Come to us, for earth below is not the kingdom that is thine!"
I have listened to the lapping of waves upon the shore,
I have dreamed that the wildest seas were calm and still.
And in spirit I have hurried to that contourless land,
Where the dearest we have known we´ll know no more.
To a wild, eternal longing were we born of ash-pale mothers,
And from travail, anxious, painful, rose our first, our wailing cry
Were we tossed on plain and hillside, just to tumble round and frolic,
Then we played at elk and lion, beggar, God and butterfly.
Did I sit beside her, silent, she whose heart was as my own,
Did she tend our home with soft and gentle hands,
Loudly was my own heart shouting, "What you own there is not yours!"
And my spirit drove me onward to find peace.
What I love is lying yonder, lies concealed in dusky distance,
And my rightful way leads high to wonders there.
In this clamor I am tempted to beseech Him, "Lord, O Master,
Take all earth away, for own I will what no one, no one has
Join me, brother, beyond mountains with their still and cooling rivers,
Where the sea is slow to slumber in its peak-encircled bed.
Somewhere far beyond the heavens lies my home, have I my mother
In a gold-besprinkled vapor, in rose-tinted mantle clad.
May the black and brackish waters cool our cheeks with fever reddened,
May we be from life far distant where the morning is awake
Never was I one with this world, and unending tribulation
Suffered, restless, unbelieving, suffered from my burning heart.
On a seashore sown with cockles stands a gate with roses laden,
Where in slumber, vagrants perish and all weary souls find peace.
Song is never heard resounding, viols never echo, ringing
Under arches where forever cherubs of salvation dwell.
Here is a different - but also fine - interpretation by Björn Ulvaeus:
A brief biographical note on Dan Andersson, written by Caroline Schleef:
DAN ANDERSSON was born on April 6, 1888 in Grangärde parish, Dalarne,
Sweden. He grew up in an atmosphere of simplicity, poverty and deep piety. At
the age of fourteen, he came to America to visit his father's relatives in Forest
Lake and Tamarack, Minnesota, but went back to his native land at the end of
eight months.
His working life as forest-laborer and charcoal-burner began soon after his return
home. Many of his first stories and poems were written in intervals between
tending his charcoal kilns "by the dim glow of a sooty lantern, swinging from the
smoke-grimy roof of his sod-cabin."
In 1915, he attended the winter course at the Brunnsvik Folk High School near
Ludvika. He married in 1918. His death through accidental asphyxiation occurred
in Stockholm during the night of September 15, 1920. He lies buried on a lovely
knoll in the Ludvika churchyard, overlooking Vessman Lake and the mystic,
forest-clad ranges of his native Dalarne.
An edition of five volumes constitutes the poet's collected writings: Charcoal-
Burner's Tales; The Three Homeless Ones & David Ramm's Inheritance; Songs &Ballads; Posthumous Stories; Gleanings, Verse & Prose.
Recognition accorded so meagerly during his lifetime came with the poet's death.
And interest in him has not waned with the passing years. All unconsciously, Dan
Andersson stimulated a host of young authors, particularly members of the
working-class, who have contributed so refreshingly to both Swedish poetry and
prose.
There is a Dan Andersson museum in Ludvika and a Dan Andersson week is celebrated also in Ludvika in the first week of August.
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