Sunday 20 November 2011

Poem by the Swedish poet Nils Ferlin


Couplet

Dedicated to Victor Arendorff, Högalid

In Arendorff’s day
skies were vast, never grey,
with the stars almost touching your hat.
People laughed til they dropped;
if at night you got copped
there was nothing so special in that.
And high spirits were there for the telling,
though a barrel made do for a dwelling.
And you starved and you froze
but you won by a nose.
There was nothing so special in that.

But now life is plain hard
in both street or backyard
in a pub or café or small flat.
You sit quiet as can be,
like a bust or a tree:
can you see something special in that?
No, in Arendorff’s day you breathed freely,
mixed with barons and counts ten times yearly.
If you spoke like a lout
well, you soon got thrown out:
There was nothing so special in that.

Times were quite debonair,
but with sleek head of hair
social levelling came in to bat.
We became, hardly odd,
just like peas in a pod.
Can you see something special in that?
People pay all their taxes, are civil,
but all recklessness shun like the devil.
Now life’s zest has been quashed
like a hat that’s been squashed.
I see nothing so special in that.

Yes, you live without pause
off the body that’s yours
and then whoosh, one-two-three, that was that.
And in some makeshift dray
you’re then carted away.
There is nothing so special in that.
Should a bird feel the urge to start trilling
at your passing, t’would be almost thrilling.
Though the vicar’s no bird,
mumbles hardly a word,
there is nothing so special in that.

To hear a snatch of the wonderful Sven-Bertil Taube LP, with Lille Bror Söderlundh's music arranged by Ulf Björlin, go to here. To see a recent YouTube version, with the old man still going strong, go to here. To see the original text, go to here.
 


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