Unknown's avatar

THE ILLUSION OF THE GREAT WRITERS

Originally posted 6/1-13 on: http://thesolsticewell.com/

Stumbled upon a copy of “Faust” by Goethe some time ago. I had read parts and excerpts of it in German and Swedish before, so I already knew it was crap.

I had a volume of Goethe’s poetry before and liked some parts and pieces of that, so there is no denying from my part that he could write decent. Technically speaking.

This book is one among the two dozen books that have been typical for the intellectual crowd to walk around with a copy of. Found it so humouring that I walked down the streets with it in my pocket that I actually just had to take a picture of that. 

JUNK-CULTURE

JUNK CULTURE

The story of “Faust” is just dumb and poorly written.

There is the fiction figure called “God” in it that have no resemblance whatsoever with reality. It is really insulting that a fake “god” stole and still use the name God against God. (Not even mentioning the thousands of other things that parasite steal from The Gods).  Furthermore, there are some characters in a nonsensical discussion that also come from fiction, all done with the deranged minds view. Etc. You get the picture.

As the case with all junk culture there is nothing of interest and it all lead down to nowhere land. It reminds me, not surprisingly, of how Strindberg later used to build up his plays.

I do not blame fiction for being non-fiction. I blame these silly illusions to enter and derange non-fiction and then affect fiction. I understand that this is fictional writing from a man that know very little about the realities of life. Still, when people like this spread their junk it affects the minds and continue to kill Culture. It is really depressing to know that junk culture like this have been promoted so well that it is currently called “fine literature”. Or any other cliché I might think of. There is, to no surprise,  even worse books out there by other “great writers”. Burn them.

Do I write better than Goethe? If not, then I have no say, you say? That is completely beside the point. (It is not my personal goal to be a great writer. My goal is to give of my knowledge.) Everyone have to start facing the fact that most of what have been produced in literature and arts have been filthied, some of it is forged and is being used as tools for murder and much worse for hundreds of years. It will all be trashed as the new time enters. Be prepared for it.

Literature, music and other forms of entertainment must be cleaned. Junk culture can only inspire to shape more junk. I am against junk entering the mind, defiling and murdering all higher values. What freedom does the victimized, these insane and twisted have? To make this world a trash can for everyone?

I would rather be completely empty than full of that litter.

Unknown's avatar

I AM

Wanted a slumber down in the valley
close to almond trees in worthy bloom

Ring the always longed for lyre tones

But, became another

Wished to stand free in dark-green Autumn,
cleansed from all the living years hard grin

To live and die pretty as an Autumn leaf

But, are by mistakes wed

Became rainfall, cold, calling winds,
a brief scent before death,
as schythed nettle,
broken citrus leaves,
Autumn land after night rains

But, can undoubtly love

when there is something to love

It wishes to shatter here

between the gravel and the leaf-age

Finding worst love

the One, that can not be found

For me, betrayal is not good enough,
cleanest love violated,
the ruins clothes
or the own wills struggle slaughtered

I am laid opened, one aloned unrotten,
in the apple basket given to the sorrows
I am so strangely hard, so oddly grained,
to be carried away from abandoned mills

Knowing all waving wind-flowers Sun kissed
The beautifully crestfallen, already dulled,
laid there the heart worn almost was enough
and to your refusal never have been missed

I am entangled,
stricken down in quenching pettiness

I am hidden,
with an unreachable cold-hammered need

I am grieved,
filled with all the days nothingness

I am mist raised,
clouded, covered underneath weakened will

I am glowing snow on frozen stock
in memory’s burned down forests

I am incarcerated, left where blemishes are left

I am a still night cloud, uprising scent of leaves,
that never will find the Worlds again

I am my winnings pulled away,
taken and swept in a gulp

Holding the Tree you know holds your leaves
while we break off the branches

I am this.

I am what you never can feel

I AM

I AM

Unknown's avatar

IN YET ANOTHER AUTUMNFALL

(I am bored with my attempts to translate this poem into proper  English. I will just publish it as it is for now and hope for help… I am fully aware that it is more or less word by word translations that I do of my own work, which others might find “wrong”, but I do work with higher set goals.)

 

Dream me in rowanwreathed Autumnforest days

there shimmering cling near the sleeping fields

meanwhile a broken mist stumbles, lifts ― Rises

 

And a silent rain sweeps ― The bonfire hisses

 

Travelling mist covered

And soon it dawns again  ― Again

 

Watching wilderness, playing with dry leaves,

eating my thistles carefully and gifting smiles

beneath days of past grayish skies mirrored

 

And have alone been stuck ― Where Time stopped

 

The almost unnoticed waves in the mountain creek

listens near by to the pleasing small drops of rain,

watching the forest thin in slow pace with Autumn

and knew that the leaves would fall here ― Again

 

Travelling mist covered ― Traceless

Soon it dawns again ― Again

 

Reached an early marsh in its slow leaf falling,

herein may serenity caress and milden

 

You, Autumnland, are Death´s lost portent

 

And soon a Winternightwind was heard calling

IN YET ANOTHER AUTUMNFALL

IN YET ANOTHER AUTUMNFALL

Unknown's avatar

I NATTFROST DRAGET

Gömd i sista Vintervistet kom Döden

likt en späd och ursäktande gråterska

och satt sig i förnimman, i viskanden:

 

Sökte här själva Livet till frände,

i det sårbara, i ditt ensamt döende

 

Vi är en lämnad, skugglös storm,

trycker våra tärda ord mot mörkret,

pressar nattens timmar; lär oss frysa

 

(Blev dragen hit genom markerna i mörkret,

släpades över tidsavståndet, stenar och isar)

Och kölden, har blott min fagerhet i ordet,

men tomheten;

har sin tomhet fastnad Väven

I NATTFROST DRAGET

I NATTFROST DRAGET

Unknown's avatar

RAINED

Rain thicken the skies, shapes the landscape

 

Heavy rain wet the forest, dances in streams,

bending bilberry shrubs placed upon mossed stones

while running rills near here on through the thicket

 

Stumbling roots ― Diverting wounds

 

There!, Sunbeamembraced wild trees

hidden mountainwreathed wasteland

strengthens what memories miraged:

 

Strangely Reality have been branched

 

 

There lye an arrow in the rain, shot,

brought, stuck into a forsaken heart

 

Sent silenced, bittered and lived

 

Stopped.

 

Rained in sea

RAINED

RAINED

Unknown's avatar

FRIDLYST

Skänkte i några värmande glimtar till rara minnen

att bära iväg, ynket bort förbi, hägna detta fridlysta,

ännu få känna vätade Sommarängarna smeka benen,

fånga stiltjen invid den vita husknuten i mitt Kyrsta

 

Drömd,

blir härnere överallt kallad en drömd

 

En gömd,

inuti tvekan, årstiderna håvar mig svunnen

 

Skymtar av Livet dröjer kvar mot bittrande skarnet

och gästar ägorna som om detta liv ännu var vid liv,

som om en okänd imma hängde vid Livet övergivet,

som vore mitt liv ännu kvar i Livet som mitt eget liv

 

Köldklart. En halvt avhakad trägrind gnisslar vind,

öppnad in till en glömd gård vars rester kan skymtas

 

Lutad över trälårar bräddade med sättpotatis och morötter,

doftande i fyllda kassar med mjöliga äpplen i farstukylan

vilket räckte så långt Vintern förmådde spä sitt tillstånd

 

Frostslaget. Grusgången glimmar sina sköra isflak,

småstenarna fastkilade i frusna sanden blänkte stilla

 

Är snarad sorgvis, grätten, mildögd och mycket bräcklig

likt sista äpplet lyst igenkänd grenat kvar sin Vintergren

synande årets skörd av Höstlöv vackert rullade i frosten

 

Står slut,

ensamt kvar oförställd inför overklighetens rusk

 

Kliver upp längs med den av trakten bortglömda kolmilan,

och tänker på vännernas svärd dragna från åkern nedanför

 

Nedan mörkret,

nylagda snödrivor i blåbleka Vinterkvällen.

 

 

 

Bryggd eftersken;

döda stjärnors ångerklagan i natten

att under glimtvist dröjande dagbräcken förbli ― Onåbar

 

FRIDLYST

FRIDLYST

Unknown's avatar

TILL SANNINGENS FRAGMENT

Det bittras

 

innan gryningen finner sin dagg

och efter det att daggen druckits

 

(Kunde ändå aldrig lindra nätterna
därinne timmarna sträcktes till särlan
medan facklorna oömt sökte efter Ljuset)

 

Livet sökte (lämna mig)

 

medan Solen stilla släckte sjöröken

vid stillatigande rönnen över bäcken

 

Livet kommer (älska mig)

 

i vissheten,

i violernas vajande skogsskuggor

 

MOUNTAIN ASH

MOUNTAIN ASH

Unknown's avatar

REGNAD

Skurar tätnar skyarna, träs landskapet

Ett slagregn väter skogen, dansar å,
böjer blåriset ställt uppå mossade stenar
och ränner ilar här intill genom snåren

Snavar rötter ―  Skingrar såren

Där!, solstrålefamnade vilda träd
gömda bergomkransad ödemark,
stärker vad minnet länge hägrat:

Gäckat Verkligheten varit grenat

Det ligger en pil i regnet, skjuten,
hitförd, fastnad ett försakat hjärta

Sänd tystad, bittrad och levad
Stannad.

Regnad i sjö

REGNAD

REGNAD

Unknown's avatar

TIND A LIGHT!

Wandered to burialmounds where the Oaths were given

Risted the Path therein the Worlds longings are carried

*

FEEL!

*

Feel the teared

Initiated here to forlorn be

*

Hard the frost strikes the hidden

while a worthy is torn apart, hardened

Torches flicker, cutting pieces from darkness

Making my leaves, hearing wolves songs

*

Quiet

*

The water called rain usurped

Weak twigs were cracked

*

Be still
 

*

Hear the streams carve the mountain

while wetted leaves chatter

*

Night rain falls

Storm comes

*

The rain cried for me

*

Hidden under these arms of the Tree

beautifying anxiety and withering

with healing, sounding voices

*

Tind light for your life!

Tind lights for our lives!

Tind the light!

 Tind the light! 

THE RAVENSUN

Unknown's avatar

1 SIGFRIDSSON ATT RISTA KÄRLEK RÄTT

 

Det har nu gått en tid sedan ATT RISTA KÄRLEK RÄTT släpptes lös till denna värld. Första upplagan var en billig upplaga att sprida runt och den är häftad med 80 grams papper i inlagan. Den andra upplagan är något förbättrad och har fyrfärg i inlagan. Dessa två första upplagor hade en miss med ordet “kärrdränkte”. Det markerades felaktigt när layouten gjordes på tryckeriet och blev omkastat där och då.

Hursomhelst så är det den tredje upplagan man i nuläget borde skaffa då den är limmad och poserar med glättat papper. Av de tre upplagorna så är den första och den tredje helt slutsålda. Några få ex. finns kvar lite här och var av den andra upplagan.

(På bilden just här nedan de tre upplagorna lagda från vänster till höger. Sic.)

ARKR 1 SIGFRIDSSON