just as imperceptibly
as the towel
gets dirty
from too many
clean hands
All posts by tobi
Chit-chat
I listen to
slightly sad music.
I close my eyes
figure me calling my dad
and he picks up immediately
We chit-chat a bit.
I tell him
about my thought of today
our playful cat
the heavy rain that happened today
– almost tropical.
About some technical thing
I’d like to order
with mail delivery.
All is fine with you
time goes by.
and some little joke, of course.
As soon as we’ve hung up I realize
that I forgot
to ask you what sunrises
are like
in Heaven.
Video: Tor-Bjorn reads own poetry in Russian
In the beginning of June 2017 I read (for the first time) some of my poetry publicly in Russian In Barcelona. Below is a video recording from this event.
Continue reading Video: Tor-Bjorn reads own poetry in Russian
Footsteps
He was standing in the water,
trying to understand
whether his body was hot,
or the water was cold.
An old man in shorts and a peaked cap
passed by, walking along the wet sand
of the shore.
His naked feet left
distinct and deep footsteps behind.
A wave broke into foam
a couple of meters before the shoreline.
The top of the wave continued ahead,
covered the beach,
and then quickly
disappeared into the sand.
The old man’s steps
were still clearly visible,
but had now softer, rounded profiles,
just like we
sometimes,
when we look back on our life,
finally better can see
the bigger picture.
After a little while, nature sent a second wave,
which let its soft hands
smooth out the trace even more.
It was still possible to see the steps,
but only if you knew
that they ware there.
When a third wave
had put itself to rest under the sand,
the only thing that was left was the memory,
and the word.
——————————————–
Image from https://pixabay.com/en/sea-beach-vacation-sand-water-1281780/
Thanks a lot!
The Wonder
With every single breath, my friend
the Wonder starts over again.
Am I a writer now?
Half a year ago, I published my first book. It’s a collection of short-tales, memories and poems, 84 pages in total and all in Swedish.
And yesterday I found that my book now has been listed in Libris, the national Swedish library catalog. It’s even showing that one copy is available in the Royal library of Stockholm and another copy in the University library in Lund.
But does this make me a writer?
Not necessarily. If I stop writing after publishing a mere 84 pages, then this will just remain a funny project in my biography. But I can tell you it really felt good to get proof that my book now is available in a couple of the biggest libraries of Sweden!
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year
On the occasion of Christmas, I want to share my recording of the tale ”Jakten på julpirret” (In search of that magic Christmas feeling) from my book ”En gravlaxvändares memoarer” (Memoirs of the man who turned marinated salmon) (Sorry, the book, the story and the recording are all in Swedish.)
Remembering
I long for gone times
when I walked out to meet you
as you towards the evening came home
in the driving school’s car
and you let me ”drive” the last meters
sitting in your lap.
I long for gone times
when a reporter from the local newspaper
made a photo of our family
at a walking quiz
and I was comfortably seated
in your back-pack.
I long for gone times
when you teached me to drive.
Your phrase ”the signal won’t get greener than this”
I’ll remember for ever
– a friendly joke.
I long for gone times
when you were always around
as a security
a warranty
that everything will sort out.
I long for gone times
when I from far away
helped you to
make friends with scanner and printer.
I long for gone times
where you, already in hospital
told me about your
army service.
I long for gone times
when we mounted a circus tent
and I learnt how darned heavy
the structural bars
of the spectators’ tribune are.
I long for gone times
when I joined you for a bus ride
among Enhörna and even smaller villages.
I long for gone times
When you were still alive.
Take care
Dear Dad!
My dad was driving the bus when Tomas Tranströmer went to heaven
There’s a recording of this text (in Swedish) above.
Per-Ove, my dad, felt at ease in road traffic.
For many years he worked as driving instructor. And when they lived a few years in Hagfors, he was driving heavy lorries.
But I believe he felt the very best when he was driving the bus. Most of the time, he managed to solve the tricky equation really well: Be on time, but at the same time drive softly, and don’t start moving until that old lady with a walking stick is securely seated… And never, ever, ever go over the speed limits. At the same time, he was happy to spread plenty of smiles and nice words, even at five AM, when they can be the most powerful.
Continue reading My dad was driving the bus when Tomas Tranströmer went to heaven
(Svenska) Jakten på julpirret
Sorry, this entry is only available in Svenska.