'ROUND THE MINSTREL OF LUOSSA

'Round the Minstrel of Luossa

by Dan Andersson

translated from the Swedish by Sandra Dermark.

Gothenburg, 21st of August 2015
Exordio signi Virginis

'Round the minstrel of Luossa, people gathered in a ring,

in the campfire's light, all listened to his song.

And of wayfarers and highwaymen, and more wonderful things,

and of his desire he sang all night long.

"There's something beyond the mountains, beyond all the songs and flowers,

there's something beyond the starry skies, beyond my heart in flames,

Listen! Something is heard whispering, alluring me and coaxing:

'Come to us, this earthly realm is not the one from which you came!'

I have listened to the tranquil waves that lap against the shore,

of the rest of wildest oceans I would dream...

And, in spirit, I have hastened towards those ethereal lands

where what we love is forgotten, nought to seem.

To a wild, eternal longing we were born unto pale mothers,

our first cries rose from entering this wide world against all odds...

We were placed on the hills and valleys and plains for children's playing,

we played we were moose and lions, butterflies, minstrels, and gods.

I sat by her side so quiet, her heart was like that of me,

with her warm, soft hands, she fluffed our common nest...

Then I heard my heart a-calling: 'What thou ownest is not of thee!'

And my spirit carried me away to rest.

What I love is far beyond, it is concealed in the dark yonder,

and my right pathway is wonderful and high,

and I'm coaxed amidst the clamour to pray loud at any wonder:

'Take the whole Earth away: to own what no one else owns wish I!'

Follow me beyond the mountains, beyond cool and tranquil rivers,

where the oceans slowly fall asleep in rock-beds that slope down...

Somewhere there, beyond the heavens, there's my home, and there's my mother,

in a golden mist she's hidden, made of roses is her gown.

May the dark and salty waters soothe my cheeks, ablaze with fever,

may we be miles away from this life when night gives way to morn...

I was not from this world, and, due to my restlessness and passions,

I have gone through endless suffering, and pain, and woe, and scorn.

On a shoreline decked with seashells stands a gate of heavy roses,

tranquil shipwrecks there decay, and weary castaways find rest...

Songs of songs which no one has heard are sung like echoes of violins

in the rose-decked vaults where dwell, forever young, the children blessed."