B Odil Malmsten worked is still in the finalization of this collection of poems when she died, it sounds a little notice during copyright text us know. She went through the poems, changed them here and there. Where she stopped the reader does not know and that somehow provides a special spark to the “Collected Poems”: as in Keatsversen where the poet stretches out “this living hand, now warm and capable” and imagines that it will continue to extend the his death, somehow continue writing, influence, might haunt. How will the work in a way unfinished and possible resolution. It is a strangely attractive idea. This collection covers anyway all the poems from his debut “The dwarf Gustaf” (1977) until 2015, “This is the heart”, as well as four independent poems.
But how can you read Bodil Malmsten with fresh eyes , Bodil Malmsten which are recently deceased, which are so loved, acclaimed and cherished, which is called a literature rock star? I have a feeling that she would have been embarrassed by what has been written about her lately, she even bothered to read it (probably not).
Malmsten poems excels course through his avighet; they are sharp, sullen, uncompromising, confident. “The inherent” from “Toad & amp; The fire “(1987) can be read as a poetic statement: ego” increase the volume awake / Fixed time is over twelve / & amp; forget as usual to the roof / ceiling is the world & amp; Ferlin old floor. ” Malmsten underdog occupying literature apartment, filling “Every inch of every lodgings.” She writes about fetal dads and their many cars, Dallas and Hans Holmer, writes that Annina Rabe puts it in Expressen, in a language that is easy to read but for the sake of it be easy in meaning.
Bodil Malmsten has never had watertight bulkheads between genres, something that becomes particularly clear when the poems are read in light of logbooks. The terse, pregnanta formulations are there already in the debut and reaches its complete form in the collection of poems that became the last, “This is the heart”.
Rarely has any Swedish poet wrote such a concise and explosive powerful elegy, a deal with death and the passage of time that never soars into abstractions or shrink from the painful. The grief is ugly and brutal, it destroys and destroys: “Hello it is me / That was me.” “So annihilated humanity / Restricted / grief is selfish.” Grief coach in Ropsten tries as best she can but is ultimately still a symbol of the awkward society, as Malmsten so often criticizes, satirizes and sigh over, the wet and a little helpless bureaucrat Sweden with their coaches and medical centers. But this is also a love poem, for it is after all, missing the ally of love: “Love is / I want you there.” Love gives, perhaps, a moment of transcendence.
It is the death of Bodil Malmsten, it has always been; death in all its forms. Death internship is relationsuppbrottet, relationship changes.
“Nefertiti in Berlin” (1990) has also a singular force: a tale of motherhood, which is also a question ( “Who is the man when the kid was great “), a sketch of Berlin around the time of the fall of the Wall, Berlin that reflects contemporary who identify with Nefertiti. There is a transition story about children who become adults and structures dissolved, about where the love goes when something (or someone) will disappear.
This is modern man ‘bled and delayed “on the flight to the continent, the way to the so-called family frieze on Ägyptisches Museum Charlottenburg. There sits Akhnaton and Nefertiti with the little child, set in stone, under a bright sun, in a “Submerged relief 32.5 x 39 cm limestone”. The poem is also a place where Malmsten examines the role of writing, how it can curb due, if at all it can be, what the author actually does: “A printer not writing / story written by a grain of sand in the desert.” Again, that Keatsdikten, the as yet warm hand that always writes his own dödsbok, “My bloodline encoded in the printer / … / My dödsbok printed”.
growing up Nordic darkness looms over “Padan & amp; fire “, which incidentally begins with the poem” Death in 1986, “Chernobyl Death. It paints a picture of Sweden that feels like something Jocke Berg and Kent would have gladly played in: “Southern Norrland’s mountainous regions & amp; Inland / … / Half comes up of what you sow / The lambs were irradiated in the year. ” Those rhymes, so sneaky in their associations with nursery rhymes and kindness, so crushing in the hands of Malmsten. A woman dies in the middle of the rhyme: “Dog in intensive / Despite the new laser cutter.” What remains is an insane widower who wants to cut down some innocent in the neighboring farm in revenge, but which also have to consider that “Brushing their teeth acc. gnuggmetoden “. Folkhemsråd, National Board recommends and the heartbreaking desperation of the absurd and chafing association: it is like a badge of Bodil Malmsten writes deed.
“When I wrote” The dwarf Gustaf “I did not know that you do not often write it as gets read, “Malmsten wrote in” There’s still no order in my papers. ” Many readers have commented on her ability to invite and repel at the same time, to be furious self-disclosure and particularly private at the same time. But in “The Great Wave”, the poem on the tsunami disaster in 2004, ending this collection, she for once midst of its readers and the entire Swedish population, stands out as a citizen, as a human being feel like a part of the community with their “meaningless hands” stretched out. “I can not share your grief; / The indivisible whole / I am the spare part of you / I just want to say that we are here / We surround you. ” It is almost hymn quality on the verse. It’s classic status. But then it’s as she was, and is, Bodil Malmsten: a classic.