Unknown's avatar

DEN OTIDSENLIGE

Vill rädda denna stund att försvinna,

ty den är oersättlig oemotståndlig

närmast skoningslöst fager oförstörd

 

Lugnad, med missriktade solvärmen

(den förrådande), till att ta mig en fridfylld stund

 

(Helt och fullt likt ett dumt djur vilken illa kvickt;

genast glömmer, när lite värme når att titta fram.)

 

 

 

Träden, fortsätter regnandet, i ett välriktat lån

sammansatt med suckandet, hem till sin visshet

 

Skogen, dräpt igen på sina blad, blom och strån,

stöptes till molnens och mullens tjänster i hemlighet

 

 

Det var något välbekant…

 

med allt detta hjälplöst plågade,

det här ihåligt inrättade;

att livet blir dödens enda skämt

 

återkommet till att snarligen vara det svunna

 

 

Och medan tyngda steg tårar bort vägdammet

fyller hällregnet en redan överfylld regntunna

DEN OTIDSENLIGE

 

Unknown's avatar

SOM YXHUGG

Här är en stenbacke av bortplockad sten.

 

Där är en lutande lada insamlande redan uppätet.

 

(Allt ändå åtråvärt likt ett glömt minne av ett ljus utbrunnet.)

 

 

Den frånsprungna nutiden ställd utan svaren

till sådd utan skörd i ett underligt samband

vill i Tiden söka: Frihet efter döden.

 

Viet vet vad Äran åstadkommer, medan Livet;

sist och slutgiltigt är mest till illa dolda syften.

 

I MED ONÅBART ATT NÅ! TA SISTA STEGET!

 

Var en hållfast med tillhygget Klarhet och Rätt

och fyll på med tålamodet, bryt här ner lidandet!

 

VAR VÄRLDEN EN KVARHÅLLEN NJUTNING! LEV DIG MÄTT!

 

 

Det inleds. Inkliv nutiden med något oerhört:

 

SANNING.

SOM YXHUGG

 

Unknown's avatar

DÄR SKÄRVSTENAR STÅR

Val är sten på blommor

eller blommor på sten

NI DÄR! Följ mig hit och med på snirklande myrstigar

fortsättandes ner genom ängsmarken; just denna Vår

vilken omgjord med smältvatten snart rinner över i…

 

Sommaren, gick förbi återkastande andra små sommarminnen

här uppe på enbackarna och åkeröarna; nere vid bäckarna

vänder vi famnen runt rödlysande fullmatade smultrondiken

 

Vattenspegeln slumrade fastnad vidare nere i sänkan

med barret och dammet simmande på Så sött retande

 

Vi ska se att osynligt lyftas skärvstenar där bakom gläntan

av tungsint härdade i varje vrå Ändå lekande

 

Vyerna är här tillåtna vara oss vidsträckta,

åtkomliga, åt oss hastigt infångade innan…

 

Hösten, dofterna runtom blotat trä och svamp i fuktig mossa

från ett tystnat gömsle där ett endaste löv har klamrat sig fast;

följer sann livsglädje på upptäcksfärd efter sevärt; oupptäckt.

 

Det mojnade medan ån tystnade till nedanför åsen

och bredvid mig satt en froströks täthet i ett leende;

i sina snötyngda Vintergrenars vintervackra sken

 

Vi hemvänder inom Jordmånen!

Vi slår fram våra år i bergen!

Vi bryter åder!

DÄR SKÄRVSTENAR STÅR

 

 

 

Unknown's avatar

NEW YEAR!

I reached my goals for this year when it comes down to showing up with some productivity, granted be that it was for the most part writing as far back as seven years that went into small print and production. I also managed to reach post number three hundred and got over five thousand followers on this blog/homepage. And, I started up www.asatruth.com again with a dozen posts.

The two books I made this year with my translated poetry; AS ONE and HUNTED IN INVIOLABLE BLOOD has been read by a few thousand and understood by too few, they will of course be read by many more; and much more interested people in the future. I also did a book in Swedish with poetry; I KLARHET     IMMA (IN CLARITY     MIST) and I had my second photo exhibition under the name 1 SIGFRIDSSON; called DUSSINFOTO (DOZENPHOTO). As my grand finale for this year I did the magazine: NEW TIME (THE SOLSTICE WELL) that gathered some of my articles, naturally I found some minor mistakes here and there after it was completed…. O! I continuously avoid perfection. 

I’m rarely as productive as I would like to be so I’m pleased anyway. (Honestly, I’m a bit humoured by how I always wait so I can start up from zero with everything I have done in my life. It has to do with that I would get bored and leave it if I didn’t keep it a bit shaky and interesting until final day of production. It gives it that unique one of a kind touch, perhaps or perhaps not… I can always fix it in the mix some other rainy day.)

I still buy and sell a few books, records and other crap now and then on the internet. I find it curious that many believe that I must be a “fan” of what I “trade” with… Trust me, I’m not a “fan” of any junk-culture. As far as I’m concerned it can all burn and be erased from this world. Why do I even touch it? It keeps my mind occupied a few hours here and there every second month or so. Maybe I just need a small hobby to avoid going out and stabbing people? (By the way, I have stopped with this small trading, I might sell a few things once or twice more…)

Earlier this year there was some goofy literature magazines that complained about that I gave them material through e-mail without treating them as very special individuals, as they all are so important that I just have to send them a few words each for their magazines that I would never read, at least not without puking. Why send them anything then? It is merely for spreading my material around a bit. I really do not wish to be in any of the junk-culture magazines. I have stopped sending out material altogether now, not a copy was sent out of NEW TIME (THE SOLSTICE WELL). I might send out something in the future, but I doubt it. (I might become forced to, for some reason or another…)

You know, if the world was perfect then I would sit and dream and write aesthetic and fragile poetry all day long. I would have some peaches with cream and some cold mineral water and then go out and smell the forest after the rain in the Spring/Summer/Autumn. Etc. I do not sit and daydream as the nightmare of the present reality in this world will take over in a few seconds… Now there is a Winter… I do not have any papers to write on… On the positive side I do have some cream in a can… It is fattening.

I figure that I’m now about 0,001% of what I should have been some twenty years ago, that is slightly depressing. At least I’m on the map for the New Time and that is more than most who lived in this sad middle-period of time have. Next year will be mine.

I will raise One fulltru-glass on New Year as a first, last and always.

 

1 S

NEW YEAR!

Unknown's avatar

1 SIGFRIDSSON – HUNTED IN INVIOLABLE BLOOD (POETRY E-BOOK)

After most of these translations have been sitting around for five years, I finally got it somewhat together.

 

Unknown's avatar

TAKEN YEARS WANDERED

 Taken years wander around, 

too Bored with day and night

.

The wind hisses,

newly kindled stars gaze

.

Hugen cuts after, in me,

while clouds ignore and the birds swear

.

Are then waking the night in vain

and fathoming the moonbeams

over this bloomed out meadow

.

Surrounded traces of this life 

become gladness itself to a shimmer,

which runs 

through its ground base

before hope is expected

and avoiding

the formed heritage

where inaccessible turns,

waiting, Calling, waiting

.

One inside all the Light in here is played;

hearing wind whisper itself amongst leaves

in front of this awaited death duty plight

A rare functioning love insight

.

.

.

BLISS!

LOVE!

NECTAR!

TAKEN YEARS WANDERED

TAKEN YEARS WANDERED

Unknown's avatar

INVIOLABLE

Poured in a few warming glances for sweetly rare memories

to carry away, pity gone by, to enclose this inviolable,

yet get to sense those wet summer meadows caress my legs,

to catch the calm wind close to the corner of this stable

.

Dreamed,

I am everywhere down here called a dreamed

.

A hidden,

inside indecisions; the seasons rake me in as gone

.

Glances of Life linger on to remain inside the bitter hurted

and to guest the old property as if this life still was alive,

as if an unknown mist hanged on to this very Life perished,

as would my life still remain in Life as my own Life

.

(Coldly clear. A partly unhinged wooden gate creaks wind,

opened unto a forgotten yard whose remains can be sighted slightly.)

.

Leaned over wooden boxes filled up with potatoes and carrots,

smelling in filled bags with mealy apples in the foyer cold

which all lasted as long as Winter would hand its permission

.

(Frost stricken. The gravel path glimmers its fragile floes,

small stones set inside the frozen sand did glisten still.)

.

I am snared sorrow-wise, bilious, mild-eyed, fragile and lost

like the last apple shined witnessed left on its winter branch

sees this year’s harvest of autumn leaves beauty rolled in frost

.

I stand ended,

alone left unarmed against unreality’s gruesomeness

.

Sidling up to the charcoal kiln forgotten by the region

in thinking of friends’ swords drawn out from the field below

.

Underneath the darkness,

fresh laid snow mounds in a blue bleak winter night

.

.

.

Brewed afterglow:

Dead stars’ cries of regret in the night

beneath gleamingly lingering daybreaks remain ―

Unreachable

.

INVIOLABLE

INVIOLABLE

Unknown's avatar

GROWTH OR BE DAMNED

The filthy flour is milled bitterly

down among the Aesir-betraying scum

Blood-letted, wronged, all that is foul!

Truth forgotten, all high forced to dream!

.

Imitate not the dead eternelles, you sorrowseeds!

Raise not your tearfilled voices to a false comfort

around those soiled words of impermanence

Quelled spikes shall die! DIE! DIE! DIE!

.

Lowest are brought here through the entrapments,

and when Good intentions is missing; will flicker dead,

parasites impose themselves not trustworthy symbioses,

excruciating, in denial of Holy Knowledge with an empty spite

.

We all participate in this Fated battleground

The War continues for Odmade against doomed 

Condemned breathe; but have nothing for it

Condemned die,  for their will does it

.

OWNERSHIP IS NOTHING YOU CAN HAVE 

MIGHT STAND YOU NOT TO FIND HERE

.

COME NEAR THE NEW TIMES REAL DEMANDS 

MEET A WORLD WHERE ALL CHOSEN IS KEPT 

GROWTH OR BE DAMNED IS THE CHOICE LEFT,

AS WE ALL KNOW THAT RAGNAROK IS NEAR

GROWTH OR BE DAMNED

GROWTH OR BE DAMNED

Unknown's avatar

LIFE IN MIGHT!

COME WINDS! STORMS!

COME LIFE IN MIGHT! IN BLOOD FROM BLOOD!

COME TIME’S FORCE ― MIGHT OF ODIN!

.

THE GODS ARE LIFE’S AND DEATH’S RULES

ALWAYS PRESENT HERE AND SET ABOVE!

.

DENY THE FRIEND-ROTTEN LOATHSOME ALL WORDS!

HEAVE AWAY HIDDEN IN DREAM AND EARLY FOR NOTHING!

LET THE TRUTH MUTE ALL OF THE DIMNESS AND DOUBT!

VIET OWNS MIDGARD ALONE AND WED IN LIFE HERE!

.

THE WAR IS TEARING ― DRIVES FORWARD A FINAL REVENGE

AND BLOOD WETS THE BARK ― RUNS IN THE RIGHT TRACKS!

.

WE ENABLE HERE TRUTH, HONOUR AND RIGHT!

WE TAKE HOME LOVE, FREEDOM AND MIGHT!

THE LAW IS THAT WE SHALL BE WHAT WE ARE!

.

COME TIME’S FORCE ― MIGHT OF ODIN!

COME LIFE IN MIGHT! IN BLOOD FROM BLOOD!

COME WINDS! STORMS!

Unknown's avatar

TRUTH’S MERCY

You, you so roseborn and luminous,

in guise and lifted into nothingness,

out of fear blunted blind and bound,

selling grief all its laughable advices

.

You, you lie springless and inconsolable,

in famine outside of Truth’s Mercy

.

This is tragic

.

It is the broken’s tears

.

This is freedom in a world of dross

.

You weathered down call yourself perfect

while life’s dumb illusions become wills

and thoughts shape more dumbness

to explain reasons for all dumbness

.

Waivers of the only raised above

are tolerating vexed ridiculous ideals, 

defined out from futilities’ stomachs

and will be found where miseries hunts

.

For while all High is praised

you love with what is spoiled

.

Ends

scraped forth

in suffering

where naught was 

and soon forgotten

in turned sight’s snaring deeds

.

Warming this powerless pathfinder

which should loathe suffering’s might,

before he here infected will self-starve

outside the existence of Truth’s mercy