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In Haväng
Through lonely landscape a river runs seaward
and burrows down between the green banks.
A last grave barrow on the beach
waves its goodbye, half buried in sand.
Thinning remains of a now long gone wood
are as a harp for the hard easterly.
The harsh ground whispers a promise:
Stone Pinks have remained true to this place.
All on their own live these hills.
Sand Martins swing up out of their earthy holes.
Trout leap in the clear stream,
Rams graze while the thunder rolls .
In lonesome company I shall often think
of this simple jewel of nature.
An amulet, born on a chain of memories,
where Sea and Meadow by their very name, give scent.
Anders Österling 1884 - 1981
Poem collection, Tones from the Sea, 1933*
(Translation Ann Thulin, 2009)
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Read about Sven Åke's art
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