Johannes Göransson

 
 
Johannes Göransson is the author of six books, including most recently The Sugar Book (Tarpaulin Sky Press 2015), and has translated a number of Swedish poets, including Aase Berg, Henry Parland, Johan Jönson, Ann Jäderlund and others. He has also written criticism about translation theory, and is currently working on a book on the subject. Born outside of Lund, Sweden, Göransson has lived in the U.S. for many years, and currently lives in South Bend, IN, where he teaches at the University of Notre Dame. Together with Joyelle McSweeney, he edits Action Books. http://johannesgoransson.com/

 
 
Summer

I can’t hear you
the lilacs are in bloom and the underworld
is slow I’m slowly listening to girls
sing about the rabble
they’re at my door the rabble
the girls are in the lilacs
I can’t hear them either
I have a telephone number
tattooed on my shoulder and the lyrics
of the song on the radio
seems to be: they’re at the door
they’re at the door it’s not a dream.
Summer never ends.
The currency has lost control of
the language inside language
treacherous lilac language
made for girls
like me for me the lilacs bloom
like little finger prints, hundreds of
bloody little finger prints.
I can’t hear you I’m listening
to the radio my wife
is feeding me pomegranate seeds
she’s feeding me with bloody fingers
it’s summer it’s summer I can’t
hear you it’s summer

***

A planet is hovering in the corridor
two girls are seated in
a painting from 1923 it’s summer
in the painting it’s suicide to be home
while the rabble is at the door
with the books and the photographs
from war the cold war is almost
over and I’m almost six years old
and I almost have a necklace
made of fox bones a summer necklace
for destroying the future
made for ants my summer body is
my music it’s sung by Frank Ocean
sången om havet
and I wonder if I can hear it
or if I’m listening to the rabble
which is at the door
with a hundred bloodied fingerprints
lilac hands made for my cake
skin and my silver images
of underjorden I’m stealing them
from war poetry
even though my daughters are still alive
in another painting
a figure is stabbing my bed
I’m not there you can’t hear
the rabble because I’m too loud
singing my havssång
with pomegranate seeds in
my mouth and on my body
is a book about ingefära
which is ungefär fyra decennium

***

I can’t hear you la la la
Jag håller på med dödsgrejen
I’m busy with underjorden
where my hands are almost as white
du är nästan lika vit
som havet I can’t see you
with such a pretty gauze in front
of my eyes I can’t see
the children their song is
crawling like summer
with myror except they are still
alive I’m still
stained on my lilacs
which are syrener
one thing is another
inflation art
is like silver like bodies with silver
on them like summer with silver
in daughters mercury silver
quick like silver summer
is crawling I can’t hear you

***

How strange to wake up in this
language and be finished with
home be finished with flowers and
a beautiful necklace
around my throat
och barnen babblar
with june naked like a throat
a halsband a throat band
in a photograph can be beautiful
like pomegranate seeds
on my wife’s throat they are mine
the throat and the seeds
which are from
an underground
flower I am
from the children
inte tvärtom
tvärtom är silvret
från underjorden and I am from
the land the same way
art is from throats