...When Buds Are Breaking.

The last two weeks have been sort of horrible. It is as if I have something stewing and brewing within that I don't know where it came from, where it's leading or how to handle. The situation made me think of the Swedish author and poet Karin Boye's (October 26, 1900 - April 24, 1941) little masterpiece "Ja visst gör det det ont".

Add to that a tooth that has been acting up from time to time during the same period, and since Sunday all the time. Yesterday the whole left side of my face was aching from the eye down to the underside of my chin.

These psychological/emotional and physical pains have consumed most of my energy and rendered me speechless and disinterested in blogging for a while.

Today I had the tooth extracted, so at least that pain will no longer be an issue.

Yes, of course it hurts 

by Karin Boye 

Interpreted to English by David McDuff in "Karin Boye: Complete Poems"

Yes, of course it hurts when buds are breaking.
Why else would the springtime falter?
Why would all our ardent longing
bind itself in frozen, bitter pallor?
After all, the bud was covered all the winter.
What new thing is it that bursts and wears?
Yes, of course it hurts when buds are breaking,
hurts for that which grows
                      and that which bars.

Yes, it is hard when drops are falling.
Trembling with fear, and heavy hanging,
cleaving to the twig, and swelling, sliding -
weight draws them down, though they go on clinging.
Hard to be uncertain, afraid and divided,
hard to feel the depths attract and call,
yet sit fast and merely tremble -
hard to want to stay
                      and want to fall.

Then, when things are worst and nothing helps
the tree's buds break as in rejoicing,
then, when no fear holds back any longer,
down in glitter go the twig's drops plunging,
forget that they were frightened by the new,
forget their fear before the flight unfurled -
feel for a second their greatest safety,
rest in that trust
                      that creates the world.

To Butch on Change

This poem by the Swedish author and poet Karin Boye (October 26, 1900 - April 24, 1941) has always meant a lot to me when I run into hateful changes in my personal life. It gives me hope and optimism, even though everything looks dark.

My dearest Butch, this is my way of telling you that I totally agree with you, Life is change and change is life, but to me that doesn't always exclude the possibility that both life and change can suck sometimes...

I have always loved Karin's own reading best, unfortunately I can only find a recording in which she reads the first verse, but still it gives you a sense of rhythm and how it - in my opinion - can best be read.

YES, OF COURSE IT HURTS (Interpreted by David McDuff in "Karin Boye: Complete Poems")

Yes, of course it hurts when buds are breaking.
Why else would the springtime falter?
Why would all our ardent longing
bind itself in frozen, bitter pallor?
After all, the bud was covered all the winter.
What new thing is it that bursts and wears?
Yes, of course it hurts when buds are breaking,
hurts for that which grows
                    and that which bars.

Yes, it is hard when drops are falling.
Trembling with fear, and heavy hanging,
cleaving to the twig, and swelling, sliding -
weight draws them down, though they go on clinging.
Hard to be uncertain, afraid and divided,
hard to feel the depths attract and call,
yet sit fast and merely tremble -
hard to want to stay
                    and want to fall.

Then, when things are worst and nothing helps
the tree's buds break as in rejoicing,
then, when no fear holds back any longer,
down in glitter go the twig's drops plunging,
forget that they were frightened by the new,
forget their fear before the flight unfurled -
feel for a second their greatest safety,
rest in that trust
                    that creates the world.

Förändringar

Idag är en dålig dag. Jag har ont i själen och i kroppen, är genomförkyld, trött, ledsen, sliten och börjar bli arg. Jag har sjukskrivit mig från jobbet men kan inte sova ändå, vilket är det jag mest vill.

Istället tänker jag på förändringar. Jag ogillar förändringar. Särskilt förändringar som gäller människor i mitt liv, Människor som betyder något för mig, påverkar mig, berör mig och älskar mig. Under hela mitt liv har jag försökt tvinga på omvärlden bilden av mig själv som en huvudsakligen tänkande människa, men med åren har jag insett att jag trots allt påverkas mest av mina känslor.

Den här dikten av den svenska poeten Karin Boye har alltid betytt mycket för mig när jag råkar ut för förhatliga förändringar i persongalleriet omkring mig. Den ger mig hopp och framtidstro, trots att allt ser mörkt ut. Jag har alltid älskat Karins egen läsning bäst, tyvärr hittar jag bara en inspelning där hon läser den första versen. Den ger ändå en upplevelse av rytmen och hur den bäst ska läsas.





Ja visst gör det ont

Ja visst gör det ont när knoppar brister.
Varför skulle annars våren tveka?
Varför skulle all vår heta längtan
bindas i det frusna bitterbleka?
Höljet var ju knoppen hela vintern.
Vad är det för nytt, som tär och spränger?
Ja visst gör det ont när knoppar brister,
ont för det som växer

                        och det som stänger.

Ja nog är det svårt när droppar faller.

Skälvande av ängslan tungt de hänger,
klamrar sig vid kvisten, sväller, glider -
tyngden drar dem neråt, hur de klänger.
Svårt att vara oviss, rädd och delad,
svårt att känna djupet dra och kalla,
ändå sitta kvar och bara darra -
svårt att vilja stanna
                    och vilja falla.

Då, när det är värst och inget hjälper,
Brister som i jubel trädets knoppar.
Då, när ingen rädsla längre håller,
faller i ett glitter kvistens droppar
glömmer att de skrämdes av det nya
glömmer att de ängslades för färden -
känner en sekund sin största trygghet,
vilar i den tillit
                som skapar världen.


I have been told I have a few non-Swedish readers ... and because I am afraid to think what Google Translate might do to the poem, here´s the poem as interpreted by David McDuff in "Karin Boye: Complete Poems".


YES, OF COURSE IT HURTS

Yes, of course it hurts when buds are breaking.
Why else would the springtime falter?
Why would all our ardent longing
bind itself in frozen, bitter pallor?
After all, the bud was covered all the winter.
What new thing is it that bursts and wears?
Yes, of course it hurts when buds are breaking,
hurts for that which grows
                              and that which bars.

Yes, it is hard when drops are falling.
Trembling with fear, and heavy hanging,
cleaving to the twig, and swelling, sliding -
weight draws them down, though they go on clinging.
Hard to be uncertain, afraid and divided,
hard to feel the depths attract and call,
yet sit fast and merely tremble -
hard to want to stay
                        and want to fall.

Then, when things are worst and nothing helps
the tree's buds break as in rejoicing,
then, when no fear holds back any longer,
down in glitter go the twig's drops plunging,
forget that they were frightened by the new,
forget their fear before the flight unfurled -
feel for a second their greatest safety,
rest in that trust
                 that creates the world.