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His poetry is hard-hitting livsmässa

How do you write about the disease when it is in the middle of it?

Niklas Rådström have no reply – if there is any – but the impetus and the curiosity to try to understand it. What I think about when I read ”when I was a poet.”

this is A collection of poems that take the form of an August day in 2017, then Rådström can be reached by the news of the acute phase of the blood cancer he is suffering from. Diktandet is a way to navigate through the use of the hospital ”autumn, spring, summer, and winter”; and the life which is waiting on the borderline between dream and waking.

Rådström made her debut in 1975, by ”the silence of the related poems.” Two years later, it was ”Poems about Alessandro della Quercias of life” – that was the breakthrough. Otherwise, he's been busy with plays, prose, and screenplays. His most recent book of poems, came out 20 years ago.

the Hair is put up in the night, 'is like the withered grass, on the cushion'.

this is his official return to the series, composes, Niklas Rådström, with a large attendance, and avoiding to touch the next day. At times it is heart breaking finishes reading the hair that has been dropped in the night ”is like the withered grass on her pillow,” and diktjaget see the body to wither away and die. Here are the references to The , Frank and T. S. Eliot .

While I am reading, I am reminded of the Susan Sontag in a famous essay, ”Illness as metaphor.” Written after suffering from cancer is protesting that she is against a use of language which is used as a metaphor for all that it dislikes, such as the spread and is going to be cut off. Turkey believes that the cancer is just cancer, either good or bad, but rather pointless. A state of mind, I think I can find a in Rådström. The book includes concrete prose passages, with the more abstract pieces, but this is a people koketterande and size. The disease is, what it is meaning to the natural world, and of man, that is a whole new world.

There is a complete darkness.

”and Then, when I was a poet” is growing with each reading. I read it because of its tender the documentary straightness of the following:

”First thing in the morning, when the donor's cells, which is eye-catching, gold / runs into my veins from the droppställningens blodpåse / I can remember the name of the band I was thinking of The Same. / The cure. The anti-dote. Healing. The recovery process”.

as I read it, and its clear beauty.

”Over the augustihimlens blackboard / the remains of the floor plans, / utstrukna of formulas and equations / bleached eye-catching, the sparkle of the tracks, / the galaxies, the planets, and shooting stars”.

this is A poetry which can be moving, so evocative and seamlessly between the worlds ”from the droppställningen in the sjuksängens side” to the ”björkens crisp lövsvall”, it can not be said to be awake and moving. There is a real darkness, but to the point, also, hope, light and love. I am very impressed with how Niklas Rådström has written up a used sorgepoesi, but in denial, yes, yes, a hard-hitting livsmässa. < / span> < / span>

and Then, when I was a poet.

Albert, new york, 120 pp.

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Sara Abdollahi is a critic, and collaborator in the Swedish newspaper Expressen kultursida. < / span> < / span>

READ MORE: , It is possible as soon as a man is to die for. READ MORE: , the cultural elite has never understood, and Lars Norén

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