Note: Ædnan is an old Northern Sámi word meaning “the land,” “the ground,” and “the earth.” It sounds similar to the word ædno (“the river”) and ædni (“the mother”). In today’s orthography, these words are written as eana(n), eatnu, and eadni. Etymologically they seem to come from the same root word, which roughly means “great.”
[Lise]
Winter 1977
An apartment on Postgatan, Porjus
The telephone rang
half asleep
I thought it was Per
crying again
–
Rolf sat up
wide awake
and I remembered
that he was on call
–
He went to
the telephone
and I heard
him speaking
–
Where would Rolf
be going tonight:
–
Seitevare Randi Ritsem
Messaure Ligga
Harsprånget Akkats
–
All these power plants
impossible to separate
from the lunch boxes made of
stainless steel that I
sent with him
filled with dinner leftovers
–
But also specially
made meals
–
The dog jumped
bright-eyed around
us in the kitchen
claws
clacking
on the floor
–
Then she stood awhile
on the plastic mat
and had a drink
While we waited
in silence at the kitchen table
–
A lone car
drove by
but it was
not his ride
–
I took out
a tray of food
from the freezer
–
Rolf’s wash bag
from the cabinet in
the bathroom
–
The small leather pouch
with a drawstring that Mama
had once sewn
as a gift to him
–
She had given
it to Rolf
right as she
was about to leave
As part of
her gesture to
get out of here
–
Surely to
avoid
his thanks
–
And his admiration
of her handiwork
–
I’ve never been
that good
with my hands
–
From inside the room
I heard our daughter
whimper
–
Rolf
I didn’t want
Sandra to get up
to yet again
–
plant herself like a
tiny watchman between
you and me
–
The murk
in my chest pressed
into my throat
And the car came
to a stop
down on the street
–
I went back
to bed
without a word
–
Relieved that I
couldn’t think of
anything to say
that neither of us
had started
anything
–
Sandra and Per
were breathing easy
on Rolf’s side
of the bed
–
Meanwhile his blanket
and pillows
were cooling on the sofa
where he’d been sleeping
since Per was born
–
Half a year ago
after having hung
in the air for so long
–
Because Rolf
and I noticed
that we needed to
surround ourselves with
one more child
–
At dawn
the phone rang again
–
I got up to
answer it but
no one was there
–
Only that mournful
gaze that watched
me sometimes
from inside the kitchen
–
The dead old
woman’s gaze
Ristin
–
The woman who’d had
this apartment
before us
Nila’s mother
–
Nila who charged
around on the slopes
back home in Änonjalme
and who Mama
had talked about
so often
–
The overgrown
boy
–
Who frightened off
Mama and the other children
with his cries when he
hit his mother
and who’d simply come
walking one day
–
Together with the
tightly forged group
of young women who had been
forcibly removed here
–
I can still tell
by their grandchildren’s
and great-grandchildren’s
caps
–
In church and at
graduations
who comes
from Karesuando
–
Their caps aren’t
like ours
–
Now there she was again
lying on my kitchen sofa
wearing that lace-trimmed cap
As if embalmed
in a sarcophagus
–
A boat drifting
around on a dead sea
that was there just
for her
that was rocking her
–
What load
had she carried
bursting
behind her forehead
squirming
on the inside
of her cheeks
–
I stood there
receiver in hand
Taking in her slender
fingers at rest
on her womb
And I thought that everything
–
had yet to slip
from my hands
–
But I was so
angry at Rolf
I thought I
might grind
my teeth to bits
–
And really I couldn’t
stand
Anyone
but the children
looking at me
Winter 2013
The same apartment in Porjus
Mama what are you
keeping quiet about
Sandra asked
yesterday
–
As if she were
fully aware of
the load that
she’d been given
and maybe
she is aware
–
Sandra who has
gone and married a
reindeer keeper now
–
And fights for
every Sámi
question
as she puts it
–
I shake out
another cigarette
–
Smoke gently
under the fan
fondling the smoke
–
Remembering Grandmother’s
gesture when she stuffed
her pipe
–
I can hear
Rolf walking
into the hall
as if it
were yesterday
–
And the children
unzipping
their overalls
–
I can see Sandra
sitting at the table
fifteen years old
–
We’re eating
–
And she puts
down her fork and says:
–
Tell me what it
was like at the nomad school
Mama
I’m supposed to write
an essay about
you in school
–
And I did not
want to talk about it
–
Not all of a sudden
–
With Rolf listening
and Per looking at me
with curiosity
–
The latticework of silence
its familiar crackling around
the soft heart
–
But it will be spring
somewhere the bluethroat
awakens sings
–
Inside me
something opens loosens
lets in the years
–
I stub out my cigarette
and go over
to the dresser
–
Sit down on the floor
and pull out the
bottom drawer
–
One by one
I take out
the old caps
I’ve been saving
–
The ones I’ve turned
inside out
–
Until one of the children
comes along and wants
to use them
–
I turn my Aunt
Ella’s cap
Aunt Susanna’s cap
right side out
and then Grandma
Máret’s cap
–
The red one
with forest-green
trim
that she wore
so often
–
This was the cap
Sandra had worn
when the police put
their hands on
her head
–
And pushed
my grown girl to the ground
–
This ground
that she loves so much
Ground that she and her
friends want to protect
from overseas
mining companies
–
The police
tore this cap
right off
Sandra’s head
Now this memory can no
longer be separated
from Grandma’s cap
–
Which I must have
seen her wear
a hundred times
when she rowed out
across the water
–
What if I had done
more than just listen
–
When Aunt Ella
talked about the Lapp
as a primitive
human
who knew
nothing of the
great big world
–
What if I had instead
asked her
why she’d say a thing like that
–
Deeper down in the drawer
lay Mama’s piles
of colorful shoe bands
which I’ve saved
–
Bands she wrapped
around pieces of
cardboard she cut
from the phone-book
cover
–
I can tell at once
by how the bands are
wound and
how the lace
is folded
that this is
her work
–
I’ve uncovered so much
of what she
left behind
but never put it to use
–
Trimming ribbon and ruffles
torn loose
from other clothes
surely things
that were threadbare
–
Her many
buttons and
old needle books
–
The little needle case
made of reindeer horn that she
had on her belt
that one time
–
The seaplane made
an emergency landing in the fells
and she was there
and had to mend
a tear in the wing
with sinew thread
–
You didn’t usually
have the needle case
on you Mama
But that time
you did
–
You who always said
that you were sure
I’d marry a Swede
because I was too
impractical for
Sámi life
–
Even though it was me
who stripped and
sanded this dresser
for you
–
Your wine-red tall
heavy dresser
That has become almost
like the dam out there
–
An embankment
where all that has
come to pass collects
in a gliding
great cold whirlpool
that mixes
up all of time
–
Leeches the color from
every emotion
–
I’m about to
open another drawer
when my phone
rings
Could be Sandra
maybe Per
–
But I don’t make it
up and off the floor
in time to answer
February 4, 2016
After the Girjas verdict
It’s been a long
time since I heard you
this clear
and somehow astounded
as in-the-world as
yesterday Sandra
when you called
–
You said the verdict
had been passed
–
Girjas Sámi village
who is suing
the Swedish state
For hunting and
fishing rights within the
Sámi community’s boundaries
–
You said:
Girjas won Mama
we won in Gällivare
District Court
–
Now we wait
for the State
to appeal
–
I needed
a long smoke
after we’d hung
up the phone
–
Will a new
trust in the State
now begin to grow
–
Or will the great Swede
put on ever weightier
armor
until we end up
in full-scale battle
–
What will you do then Sandra
which pathways do you
foresee in your struggle
above and beyond your voice
–
How many times now
haven’t you asked
me to talk
–
Talk to me about your
life Mama
you say
without understanding
how embarrassed I get
when you say:
–
You have to write
your story down
Mama
write your history
–
talk about your journey
–
I haven’t
been able to explain
to you Sandra how
wrong it feels
–
When you call
the fact that I
have existed and
am still here
my journey
July 2012
Låddejåkkå
Hello voices
–
Hello Mama
hello Papa
Rolf my love
–
May I be
among your
emotions again
wash me forth
with your gaze
–
Hello friends
So nice to see you here
your arms are glowing
–
Come come
and clarify
me
–
Lend me
the features you have
borne with you
pour out my
colors
–
Must I say it out loud
that I am thinking of life
and so I wander
–
Must I also say
–
that I am missing life
–
But surely you’ve
already sensed this
–
By my attention
my mood
–
The grass on the fell heath
is so brittle
tender
the aged
hands yearn
the soul burns
–
Hello Papa
hello Mama
–
Jon-Henrik my
brother and Rolf
my husband
you’re missed here
–
You too Sandra
my daughter and
Per my son
–
Even though you are
still here
–
In the light I could
see Rolf again upon
the rocky beach
–
Now I’m no longer
sure if it really
was him
Or if my
old eyes lie
see what they want to see
–
In summer
I wander alone
through the tundra
my cane in hand
–
In my backpack
I’ve put coffee and salt
some bread
–
If I catch a fish I’ll eat
otherwise not
–
Dear Jon-Henrik
How am I to know
that you’re not a
dream I once had
of my own creation
–
So much time
has passed since
we last spoke
–
Life
still beats in me
fingers searching
voice breathing
–
And yet so great is the loss
of what once was
your bodies
–
Mama
who sensed me
coming
–
You were the first
woman in the family
to give birth in the confines
of a Western
hospital
–
Why did it make you so
sad to give birth to
me Mama
Just because I wasn’t
a boy
like Jon-Henrik
–
I remember
when you cut
my hair
–
You said it didn’t
much matter
it would grow
long again
–
I stretch out
on the grass with
my backpack on
to recover
a bit
–
It’s not far
to the creek now
–
The cold one by the
old reindeer-herder cairn
where Papa and
I would get
into such long talks
–
My legs quake
when I lean
over to scoop
up water
–
And can’t I just
hear Papa saying:
If you stop
for a drink
at every stream
–
you’ll never get
to where you’re going
–
Once I ask
him out here
on the tundra
it was up
by the gorge where
one can find
ferns
–
Why Mama
had so wanted
another son
We didn’t have
any reindeer to
care for after all
–
Gaisu-Lise
Papa said and smiled
you think too
much
–
But still wasn’t I
the one
–
Who slid
Sandra’s wedding ring
on her finger
–
Who sent Per out
into this hallowed
bright room
That I’d
prepared for him
–
Maybe
–
I’m aware of how
plain my admiration
for Per has been
And how differently
I’ve perceived you Sandra
–
You’ve always said
this is because you
unlike Per
will one day turn into me
–
I know that I
should have talked
to you
When you as if duty-bound
stayed together with your
first love
–
Who you met
when you were sixteen
and are still
married to
–
But I said nothing
–
Not a word did I share
about myself
–
Even though the years
coursed through me like
black paint
when you said you
were moving in together
–
And not a word
about myself did I share
with you Per
–
When you said
you’d taken on a new
driving schedule
And would only be
seeing your daughter on
the weekends
–
My grandchild Jasmin
who reminds me
so much of
my mother
–
Who I was
forced to leave at
the age of seven
I had to leave
my life behind
–
when will I return
–
Oh how I missed
you ieddne when I was
at the residential school
oh how I missed
you áhttje
–
Oh how you missed Rolf
Per
when he was
off working
–
At Vietas or
Akkats
Spring 1959
The Nomad Residential School
The Swedish
language grew
along my thoughts
–
The Sámi since long
asleep in the body
of shame
obedience overlaid
–
Clamped
shut up inside
The voice moved
barely perceptible
almost impossible
to budge
–
The Swedish history
of power-hungry kings
mighty great nations
lifted the entire class
toward worship
closer to worship
–
But of our own
history not a word
was written
–
As if our
parents and we
had never existed
had never shaped
anything
–
My heart saw
a ruling body
remove itself from
the world of bodies
–
A hero’s
ruling body
–
I was not
dismissive of
that radiant
body
Not resistant
in the face of the mighty
–
The instinct to adapt
was strong
tumbling from my chest
–
While the ruler’s
eye gnawed its way
into my life
right through my time
–
A wide-open
child-body
Having lived
for years in its
conquerors’ house
–
Recast by
its great
gazing halls
Pentecost 1973
In the kitchen
It’s called Blue Danube
says Britt-Marie
as I unwrap
the paper
–
A teapot
cups and plates made of
blue-patterned porcelain
–
I say thank you and
feel her soft
back against my hands
warm under her blouse
as we hug
–
Then I carefully fold
up the wrapping paper
put it in the closet
–
From inside the room
I hear Rolf sit down
with the others
–
He says that it
was one of his
work friends’
mothers
who usually handled
the funerals
in the Communists’
little chapel
–
A small gray building
at the far end of
the churchyard
which Grandmother
kept away from
–
And was built
for those who didn’t want
to be buried by the priest
–
I hear him laugh
and think again that
Rolf is not me
–
Even now
–
though so many
years have passed since I
graduated from nomad
I only need to shut my eyes
to wander out among
God’s angels
dancing in circles
–
Yellow trumpets
to their mouths
–
I can hear the sound
of their rustling mantles
as they file into some
verdant kingdom of heaven
on one of the cardboard posters
–
nailed to the wall
in every classroom
–
I remember when I
met Rolf
–
I was still sure that
you’d get a lightning bolt
to the head
if you disavowed God
–
At nomad the
Læstadian girls wore shawls
to hide their hair
–
And when Mama once
heard that a little first cousin
of mine wasn’t going to be baptized
it became to her a
child of sorrow
–
Who was going to hell
where several of the Læstadian
girls’ parents were
also going
–
The earnest Læstadian
girls
who weren’t allowed to look
at themselves in the mirror
–
Who surely suffered
from the knowledge that
their parents had already
as children
been damned
because they’d made
themselves
guilty of mortal sin
–
In the tent schools
in the twenties
Where one summer they
let themselves be
photographed
naked
by the racial biologist
–
Because the teacher
and the priest had convinced
their families
That the parliamentary
decision these
so-called scientists
had invoked
to get them to
undress for those pictures
had to be followed
–
Pictures
they would
never get to see
And would never
find out what they
were for
–
In the morning
we wake early
drink strong coffee
–
Hear Uncle Ernst
treading around in
the apartment below us
Before he turns
the key
tramps into the stairwell
–
Then he knocks awhile
on our door
Some article in Flamman
has probably upset him
–
and now he needs to
discuss it
–
But we don’t
want to be home
we disappear
under the covers
–
Later in the evening
Rolf and Malte talk for ages
mostly about work
–
We sit in the kitchen
and I fill our new cups
with coffee
–
There’s knocking
at the door again
But this time it’s not Ernst
it’s Papa
–
It’s the first time
he has stopped by
for a visit
on his own
–
I see him at rest
bringing the cup
to his mouth
As Rolf and he
start talking about someone
they both know
–
Right as I get
up to put
on more coffee
I hear
–
Malte saying to Rolf:
By the way do you know
how to tell a girl is a Lapp
just by looking at her
–
Well her slit runs
crossways instead
of down the middle
and he laughs<
–
But Rolf doesn’t laugh
–
Nor does he see
the temper in
Papa’s eyes
Fall 1975
Stuor Stuodak Mountain, Gällivare, Norrbotten County
When Papa is on his deathbed
he asks me to help
him get home
–
He’s been cared for
awhile at the hospital
in Gällivare
–
He seems so
completely
occupied
by his own
concentration
–
On what
I do not know
–
But it makes me
not want to interrupt
–
Jon-Henrik and I
have been smuggling
beer in to him
for several days now
–
We dress him in
warm clothes
–
As usual we say
that we’re going
for a stroll and take
him with us
get him in the car
–
Mama didn’t want
to help
She says
it’s too taxing
–
Fall’s cool
mist sinks gray
through the air
settles in the grass
gleams on
the rocks
–
We’ve got Papa
in the ATV
We make our slow way
to the lake
–
Then there he lies
in the wilted grass
gazing at the water
–
I sit on a rock
–
Let my fingers wander
across the rugged
rock-skin under me
while the nature
around us gently
ferries me off
–
To a starker
landscape
–
That might exist too
–
It is high up
on the Norwegian coast
–
Great boulders
lie there rattling
against each other
And the Atlantic winds
blow through the crevices
between the rocks
–
I can hear them
playing on the coast
as if on a
colossal organ
–
Papa died
that day
we never thought
it would
happen
–
He gets stiff and
far too heavy for
Jonne and me
–
And we have to arrange
for the seaplane
to come
take him
down for us
–
His shrouded
body does not fit
in the plane
–
We end up having to
strap him
to one pontoon
–
What was I to
say to Rolf
what was I to
say to our children
–
How am I to
tell stories about life
–
Without becoming the
eccentric Sámi
Making jokes
at my own
expense
–
How am I to
explain to them
that the ruin
is in my voice
Summer 1977
Porjus
Rolf and I
we bought Mama
a life vest
–
After Papa
had died she kept
on fishing alone
up in the fells
but she didn’t want
to put it on
–
I’m not about to float
around in the water
freezing to death
is what she said
–
But I’ll tie
my handbag
to the boat
So you can fish
the money out if
I fall in
–
Mama
come for a visit
I begged
–
I said that Jonne
was coming
might eat with us
so then she came along
–
In the car she refuses
as usual to
buckle up
–
But she holds
the seatbelt
across her lap
in case the police
pass by
–
So she won’t get a fine
–
Her restless steps
in the kitchen
is it hot in here
she says
–
Once more she asks
when Jon-Henrik
is coming
–
And if I know
when he’ll next be
up in the fells
where he now has
his handful of reindeer
–
I wonder how
it’s going for him
she says
He has it good
don’t you think
–
And I could see
him in front of me
six seven years old
–
He’s lying
on the grass
talking with Papa
And is wearing
that sweater she
knitted him
–
With a glossy yarn
that shone
in the sun
the one on which it said
The Son
–
After we finish eating
he calls to say that
he isn’t coming
–
And I scoop
his portion into a
lunch box for Rolf
stick it in the freezer
–
Something smells
Mama says
and goes outside to
get some air
–
When she comes back in
she’s already arranged
a ride homeward along the river
with some Swedes
–
She says she can
walk the final stretch
–
And I send a
pack of cigarettes
with her
–
So she’ll have
something to do
Winter 2015
The Swedish Conversation Club, Porjus
The waves rustle
they turn and
withdraw
–
Life by the river
has often
been like life
in the reeds
–
the reeds by the river bank
where Moses was placed
–
An awareness that
someone might
unexpectedly arrive
–
and suddenly
exist here
–
I have walked along
the rocky beach
By boat I have taken
myself across the river
to the other side
–
That’s as far as
you can go
–
Downstream the dam
stands in the river’s way
–
And upstream
the rapids
stop you
–
I’ve taken the car
followed the asphalt where
it has been spread
–
Roads that ran between
the Swedes’ power stations
and mines
to which so many
people had come
–
Blown ashore
to then put down roots
–
Here in this haphazard
garden
high up in the river valley
–
The German deserter
who Papa
would talk about
–
The one who came
wandering across
the fell one evening
all the way from the
Norwegian side
–
One winter when Papa
was young
–
Barefoot in the snow
the soldier had shouted
that his feet were burning
–
And the American
draft dodger
who boarded with Mama
and me in the fells
when Sandra was small
–
Rolf was about to leave for
the summer to work in Vietas
when that young
American arrived
–
With the tourist boat
–
The man had been
called up for Vietnam
but fled
He boarded with us
for a few weeks
–
We taught him to weave
Sámi bands that he
would sell to tourists
–
He was warm
he said that
I was warm
behind the rocks
–
Sandra had lain in the grass
Eaten cloudberries and
dried meat from Mama’s
cutting board
which she had brought
out with her
–
Outside the window
it’s snowing now
–
And people
have begun blowing
this way again
After all these years
of thinning out
–
When all they did
was drift away
After Vattenfall
withdrew
–
Now they’re whirling
up this way again
–
I put on the down jacket
Sandra gave me
zip it up
Then I walk down
the hill to the conversation club
–
Bibbi’s already there
I think she looks
the same as she did
back at nomad
–
But of course I know
we’re over the hill
to them
to the young people
who’ve moved here
–
Nearly two hundred
refugees came to Porjus
Until then there were
three hundred and fifty
of us living here
–
I try to talk
with a young man
I want to say that he
looks like my Per
–
Per who’s only ever
on the road
in his truck
–
But my English
won’t stretch
–
Then I sit a long time
and search his face
For signs
of dreams imagination
and calm
–
I think
I find traces
of violence
but I don’t know
–
And then I think
I see
–
something I recognize
from my own life
–
In Bibbi’s high
closed hard
face
sitting across
from me like
a leaden shield
–
And around her
heart as well
–
Bibbi
have you also done
everything you can
–
To never
be taken for dumb
or primitive
for someone who
let themselves
be conquered
and has been too
obedient
–
The door opens
And in comes
a cousin of Bibbi’s who
takes a seat at the table
–
They speak such a
lovely Sámi
–
It’s the same dialect
that was spoken back home
on our hill
–
The language that
still existed when
we started school
Jonne and I
–
Am I that dumb
that I can’t manage
to keep my own
language alive
–
I just let it slip away
be driven from my children
–
So now Sandra
sounds like a book
no dialect at all
Trying
as a grown woman
to learn Sámi
with her children
–
I can’t get a sound
out those many times
she says:
Answer me in Sámi
Mama
–
And I want to share this
With that young
man sitting at
the table next to Bibbi
–
with his coffee cup
and cinnamon bun
–
But all I can do is smile
and he smiles back
nods knowingly
raises his cup
–
Does he know that I’m
sitting here listening
to his language
–
Between the words
that are no more than sounds
to me
and which I
do not understand
–
I can sense something
he has left behind
has lost
–
and that he does
not want to do without
–
Will he also
have a child here
at some point
Which language will
his grandchildren
get to speak
–
Which birds and trees
will they learn
the names of
and which songs
will they sing
–
About sun and wind
war and men
rich and poor