Summer Poems

by Lars Huldén


Even the Ice Age had its summers,
short it is true
as the Nordic summers are,
but light, light.
One saw the expanses of ice.
But one didn't despair.
That is my consolation.

***

Hay belongs to the summer,
fragrant hay.
How lovely
a well-kept meadow smells!
And a barn full of hay,
the kind there were still in the country
until a short time ago,
could make people drunk.

The days of free hay are gone.
People don’t make love among bales.

***

The mist cups its hand
over the meadow’s bosom.
The sun throws down its gaze.
A curious moon rises
to see what is happening,
is going to happen, or has happened already.
The meadow says that she is unfortunately
already married. The mist’s hand
stays where it is.

***


We flesh-eating plants
are not so numerous here in the north.
I am the only one on this moss,
says the drosera.

It gets quite lonely sometimes.
My surroundings think I’m mysterious,
but I don’t care about that.
There are plenty of little flies here,
and creepy-crawlies.
One doesn’t have to go hungry.

But occasionally I
envy the grasses and the semi-grasses
that stand so close together.
I have no I
on whom I can rely.

But it’s all right.
And soon the summer
will be over.

translated from Finland-Swedish by David McDuff

Lars Huldén: a dialect poem

Lars Huldén (born 1926) is the grand old man of Finland-Swedish poetry. Born in the Ostrobothnian town of Jakobstad (Pietarsaari), he later became Professor of Nordic Literature at Helsinki University. He first published poetry in 1958 and has, by now, a large œuvre.

A 500-page selection of his poems over 50 years, entitled Utförlig beskrivning av en bärplockares väg (Detailed Description of a Berry-Picker's Way) appeared in 2006.

One of his poetry collections Heim / Hem (1977) is a parallel text set of 30 poems written in the Munsala dialect, with a translation into standard Swedish. This book does, of course, raise all the fraught translation questions, should someone want to translate the thirty poems into another language. But rather than agonise, I am simply going to translate one poem from the standard Swedish version, and allow the reader to marvel at the dialect traits unhindered. The reader will note how strong the dialect is, and also, that there is not a whiff of Finnish in the dialect, which is in fact nearer to Old Norse:
Ti arbeit i laag

Hä ä in lykkotå an kan arrbeit i laag

mä tem såm an höör ihåop mää.

Papp såm ä håssbond,

Mamm så ä mattmåor,

båånin tå di byri dåga ti naa,

gambäfåltji så läng ti

levär å årk.

Såm tå an höibärga

på i uutsjifft förr i väädin.

Mitt i daain kuna mattmåor kåma

peedand mä maatin.

Tå sesstist vi allihåop i ladun åsta äta.

Tå va vi allihåop.

Vi va vi tå.

***

Att arbeta tillsammans

Det är en lycka

då man kan arbeta tillsammans

med dem som man hör samman med.

Far som är husbonde,

mor som är matmor,

barnen när de börjar duga

till någonting,

de gamla så länge de

lever och orkar.

Såsom då man höbärgade

på ett utskifte förr i världen.

Mitt på dagen kunde matmor komma

cyklande med maten.

Då satte sig alla i ladan för att äta.

Då var vi allesammans.

Vi var vi då.

***

Working together

It's a joy
when you can work together
with those you belong to.
Father who's the master,
mother the missis,
the children when they start to be able
to do things,
the elderly as long as they
live and are able.
Like when you made the hay
in a back field in the olden days.
In the middle of the day the missis could come
cycling along with the food.
Then everyone would sit down in the barn to eat.
Then we were all together.
We were ourselves then.

***

Translated from dialect into Swedish by Lars Huldén; from Swedish into English by Eric Dickens