{"id":8648,"date":"2020-06-17T03:17:12","date_gmt":"2020-06-17T03:17:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/swedish\/?p=8648"},"modified":"2020-06-17T03:17:12","modified_gmt":"2020-06-17T03:17:12","slug":"swedish-voices-in-prose-johannes-anyuru","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/swedish\/swedish-voices-in-prose-johannes-anyuru\/","title":{"rendered":"Swedish Voices in Prose: Johannes Anyuru"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"

Writer Johannes Anyuru, Photo: Khim Efraimson<\/p><\/div>\n

Writers have been using prose to reflect upon the world around them for millennia. One of my favorite Swedish writers who does just that is Johannes Anyuru. Today, we\u2019ll learn a bit about Anyuru and introduce his 2015 poem <\/span>Aska <\/span><\/i>(Ashes).<\/span><\/p>\n

Johannes Anyuru is a writer, poet, and playwright whose work focuses heavily on identity and the growing pains associated with the diverse people and narratives that make up modern Sweden. Anyuru was born near G\u00f6teborg in the city of Bor\u00e5s in 1979 to a Swedish mother and Ugandan Father. He has won numerous awards including the August Prize for literature in 2017.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I first encountered Anyuru\u2019s writing in a university Swedish class. We read from his <\/span>debut collection of poems called <\/span>Det \u00e4r bara gudarna som \u00e4r nya<\/span><\/i> (Only the Gods are New). This 2003 work builds upon Greek mythology and archetypes and how they are manifested in Sweden. Our class read a poem in which Anyuru compares the space between mainstream Swedish society and immigrant culture, like the famous Trojan Horse standing before the walled city of Troy. I had the pleasure to meet Anyuru while I was living in V\u00e4xj\u00f6.\u00a0 <\/span>Stadsbiblioteket<\/span><\/i> (The city library) held a poetry reading and was projecting excerpts of Anyuru\u2019s works on their building. He was quite surprised when I told him that our small liberal arts college in the American Midwest was studying his poetry.<\/p>\n

<\/span>In the March 2019 online edition of <\/span>Writers Without Borders<\/span><\/a>, a translated excerpt from Anyuru\u2019s essay \u201cAlhambra\u201d is included. In it, he describes writing like this:\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n


\n<\/span>Writing is a post-traumatic symptom: we\u2019re born screaming, surprised to exist, and everything that follows is the search for a sign that can hold the scream of birth.<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Anyuru is consistently seeking to articulate this \u201cscream\u201d in his work. After the 2017 terrorist attack on Drottninggatan in Stockholm, he writes:<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I felt a deep need to participate as a Muslim in the dirgelike performance taking place in the media. I wanted to contribute to the columns and articles expressing shock, worry, and assurance immediately after the attack. I did; I wrote about Stockholm, but the text did not focus on the conflicts between center and periphery, black and white, rich and poor, city and suburb. Instead, I wrote about the line that separates those who in that moment had their humanity questioned and who knew they risked being subjected to additional terror laws, from everyone else\u2014people for whom this particular moment in history was like any other.\u00a0<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

I recommend reading more of this essay <\/span>here,<\/span><\/a> as it is excellently translated by Kira Josefsson, originally published in <\/span>Gl\u00e4nta<\/span><\/i>.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

In 2015, a terror attack at a school in Trollh\u00e4ttan led Anyuru to his piece entitled <\/span>Aska <\/span><\/i>(Ashes). The poem opens as Anyuru compares himself to Ahmed Hassan, the 17-year-old student who was killed by a far-right extremist. <\/span>The poem was published in <\/span>Aftonbladet,<\/span><\/a> you can read it in its entirety there. But for now, enjoy the first few stanzas below. <\/span><\/p>\n

S<\/span>orry beginners, this is a difficult piece to read! But never fear, next week I plan to lighten it up with some beginning grammar for you. Vi ses d\u00e5!\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Jag lindar<\/b> mina h\u00e4nder, h\u00e5rt<\/span><\/p>\n

Ahmed Hassan liknar mig<\/span><\/p>\n

s\u00e5 mycket att jag tycker mig se allt lysa<\/span><\/p>\n

ur hans \u00f6gon<\/span><\/p>\n

p\u00e5 selfien: svenskalektionerna<\/span><\/p>\n

med ytterjackorna p\u00e5, materialiteten, mopederna<\/span><\/p>\n

som drar f\u00f6rbi i kv\u00e4llen, fotbollens polygonm\u00e5ne<\/span><\/p>\n

f\u00f6r alltid sv\u00e4vande en meter<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00f6ver marken, en intill benet<\/span><\/p>\n

s\u00e5rbar dr\u00f6m<\/span><\/p>\n

som bl\u00e5ser bort \u00f6ver skolg\u00e5rdar,<\/span><\/p>\n

grusplaner<\/span><\/p>\n

H\u00e5ller handen framf\u00f6r mig, lindar<\/span><\/p>\n

remsan \u00f6ver handleden, knogarna<\/span><\/p>\n

Dyrbara, tr\u00e5dslitna strimmor<\/span><\/p>\n

av hopp: vi sluter deras \u00f6gon<\/span><\/p>\n

och ber Gud att g\u00f6ra deras gravar<\/span><\/p>\n

rymliga, ljusgenomstungna<\/span><\/p>\n

att f\u00f6rl\u00e5ta oss,<\/span><\/p>\n

kunde inte skydda dem,<\/span><\/p>\n

kraftl\u00f6sa, l\u00e5ngsamma<\/span><\/p>\n

Villapriserna kommer sjunka<\/span><\/p>\n

om de kommer hit \u2013 v\u00e5ldets r\u00e4mna,<\/span><\/p>\n

rakt genom dig sj\u00e4lv: p\u00e5 s\u00e5 s\u00e4tt<\/span><\/p>\n

en sorts m\u00f6rk poesi, tyckte jag<\/span><\/p>\n

en g\u00e5ng, med krossat glas<\/span><\/p>\n

i handflatorna, en illusorisk m\u00e4nsklighet<\/span><\/p>\n

…<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"\"\"

Writers have been using prose to reflect upon the world around them for millennia. One of my favorite Swedish writers who does just that is Johannes Anyuru. Today, we\u2019ll learn a bit about Anyuru and introduce his 2015 poem Aska (Ashes). Johannes Anyuru is a writer, poet, and playwright whose work focuses heavily on identity…<\/p>\n

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