Tag: Daveylands (page 1 of 3)

Eelderwolde: somewhere in Drenthe

I’m sitting in a cabin in the woods near Eelderwolde, just outside the northern Dutch city of Groningen. It’s 7pm, a pleasant 20 degrees Celsius, and the sky is impossibly blue.

I had an early start to my journey, at 5.30am this morning in Gustavsberg.

Off we go! I whispered, as I crept out of the house and walked the 1.4km to the bus stop.

I caught the 474 to Slussen. Then I took the T-Bana to T-Centralen, from where I jumped on the Arlanda Express.

For reasons I dont want to go into here, I was catching a flight from Stockholm to Hamburg. The flight was slightly delayed but that was no big deal.

What was a big deal was that the passenger sitting next to me got out of his seat about halfway through the flight. He then apparently collapsed at the back of the plane.

Then came the loudspeaker announcement everyone dreads. A flight attendant, failing to disguise the panic in her voice, asking if there’s a doctor on board.

Long story short: the guy made it.

I faced another long delay at the airport in the queue for subway tickets. But I still had an hour to two in Hamburg before my bus to Groningen. So I went and had a beer or three in the sun.

The three-hour bus trip to Groningen was a little boring, and stiflingly hot. But we made it there on schedule.

The weather was sunny and the old town was bustling with holiday visitors. I grabbed some supplies and hit the bus station, which is right next to the train station.

From there, it was a 20-minute ride south to Eelderwolde, which is actually not in Groningen province but in Drenthe.

So that’s how I got to my final destination for the next three days. My very own private cabin in the woods.

It’s time to get back to basics.

Voor mijn valentijn

ik breng dit voor mijn gappies maar
mijn valentijn is wel de liefste
liefie, liefie ... waar ben je nu
ik ben hier maar jij niet (waarom
zeg je daarom iedere keer? hoe kan
dat ... nou, weet ik veel (ik weet
veel van mijn gappies maar darryl
ja klopt hij weet alles tenminste
alles over liefde maar hij ziet er nu
helemaal dom uit in verband met jou 
en mij (natuurlijk maar ik kan niet
zeggen jo dat ik doe dit shit als 
sinds ik klein bent (ja ik weet 
dit wel en ik kan wel liegen maar 
verliezen is geen optie tenminste
ja, nou ... tenminste als ik jou
zal verliezen dan komt alles niet 
goed (in feite wordt alles slecht 
maar dat kan niet 't is helemaal
onmogelijk, toch? ja hoor, klopt:
ik ben gek op mijn liefie (zij
is helemaal lief en ik ben haar
dronken droppie! niet iedere avond
maar meestal ben ik dol op haar!
haar haar is uitstekend bruin en
lief, zoals haar (maar haar is niet
alles in deze wereld, weet je, daar
is meer in deze wereld dan haar ... 
maar tot en met haar haar is alles
lief en ik voel me zoals een oude 
snoeperd als ik naast haar loop!
een soort van heel dronken (maar
wel lief droppie vol met drop, of
een liedje dat iedereen wel kent,
lekker bezig op straat doe ik mijn
best maar zij doet alles toppie, 
en ik zit er nu aan te denken
wat ik doe precies ... ja, nou,
meestal niks, meestal zit ik hier
alleen in mijn hoofd, maar samen 
met haar in mijn dromen (dronken
moppen tappen maken praatjes met 
de baas doen zoals phileine (zij
zegt sorry maar zij meent het niet
zij is haar eigen baas, toch? jaaaa
klopt, ik ben de baas, maar ik ben
met de verkeerde trein! liefie, ik
zit hier, op een soort van perron
en ik denk dat ik jou lief find.
mag dat? kan dat? ik hoop het wel.
ik breng dit voor mijn gappies, ja,
de echte mannetjes, de kabouters 
maar al die mannetjes met (bij 
voorbeeld de spelletjes enzo zijn
een beetje gek volgens mij (nou
(maar niet zo gek als ik op jou.

Stockholm Calling

Just like a Californian burrito maker, I’ve been preventing myself from spilling the beans by keeping them strictly under wraps (rim-shot!) but now seems as good a moment as any to announce that I will be moving to Stockholm. In ten days.

For the past twelve months I’ve been living and working in Karlskrona, a lovely ex-Naval town in the southern province of Blekinge. It’s certainly been a big change from the three years I spent in the crowded cities of the Netherlands; in fact, the only place I can think of that I can really compare Karlskrona to is Wagga Wagga – although I suspect Wagga has a few more pubs than K-Town, and is probably a little warmer in the winter.

Work-wise, my stint as a post-doctoral researcher as part of the ELMCIP project has challenged my idea of what literature can and should be in a digital context. Despite having been an editor of an online journal for the last eleven years, it wasn’t until I arrived here that I really considered the myriad ways in which electronic literature can engage with readers (players, viewers, users, co-creators).

As a consequence, I consider the most recent issue of Cordite, which features electronic works for the first time, to have been something of a watershed in terms of my own understanding of e-lit. In this context, it was great to be able to interview my colleagues Talan Memmott and Maria Engberg, both of whom have a great deal of knowledge and experience of digital literature and practice.

This year has also been a great one in terms of meeting other researchers and practitioners in the field of electronic literature. I’ve attended conferences in Jyväskylä, Karlskrona, Ljubljana and Amsterdam (where I also gave a paper), and acted as a co-editor of the forthcoming ELMCIP anthology of European electronic literature. I’m also really looking forward to being in Edinburgh for the final ELMCIP conference in November this year.

On a more personal level, it’s been really fun to experience all four distinct seasons here in southern Sweden, from last winter’s extreme snow and blizzards (strangely absent so far this time around), to spring’s slow awakening, summer’s long and glorious days and autumn’s drop-dead multi-spangled beauty. Karlskrona being a town surrounded by water, it’s also been great to see some of the islands in the archipelago, go for walks along deserted rocky beaches and get lost in seemingly endless forests.


Image: Saltö Strand, Karlskrona

Of course, there’s never enough time in life to do everything on one’s personal ‘to-do’ list but I’m glad to say that I have experienced midsummer in all its ‘songs about frogs and drinking snapps’ glory; witnessed the batty antics of graduating high school students riding around town wearing sailor’s caps in the back of trucks; played some awesome games of kubbspel and mini-golf; tried and rejected the taste of sill, glögg and skagentoast; and been a part of the national celebrations when Melodifestivalen winner Eric Saade came third in Eurovision.

Now, as the nation prepares for another crop of Melodifestivalen losers, it’s time for me to move on once more. The good news, however, is that I’ll be moving to Stockholm, the epicentre of Sweden’s bizarre solar system and the home of the Melodifestivalen final. W00t!

In Stockholm I’ll be taking up a position as a research editor with the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), an organisation which, for those who don’t keep up with these things, has apparently just been ranked second in the 2011 Global Go To Think Tank Index Rankings, just behind the UK’s Chatham House and ahead of Amnesty International, the International Crisis Group and any other (non-US) think-tank you’d care to mention.

I’m excited to be starting a new life in Stockholm, and looking forward to sampling the delights of the city’s bars, restaurants and cafes, as well as the multitude of museums, clubs and cultural activities on offer. Nevertheless, while it’s easy to see that Karlskrona lacks most of these things, I will miss being able to look out the window of my house and see the sea; and I’ll miss the laid-back summer days and the picture-perfect islands of Saltö, Dragsö and Langö.

Then again, if I ever win the lotto, I’m pretty sure that the first thing I’ll do with my squillions of kronor is buy a pretty little stuga somewhere on the archipelago, stock it with all manner of food and drink, and then while away my golden years playing kubb, whittling pieces of wood into ornamental pipes and distilling my own mead. Until then, I will take away many happy memories of Karlskrona, and hope to return again.

Hej då.

Kyss


& om jag någonsin lär mig ett enda ord holländska 
   som i verkligen lär sig lär sig förstå kroppen
     då skulle det enda ord jag vill lära mig 
         vara kus detta vackra ord för en kyss
     eller är det att kyssa som i verbet att vara
   att vara en främling i munnen av ett
annat språk ett annat sätt att
   andas är trots allt inte bara ett
      annat sätt att skriva ett språk
          sättet hjärnan andas luft &
      skapar verkliga koncept som att
    vara som i jag är eller vi är de är inte

& sedan gå vidare till att veta plural
    som i kussen verbet ihopparat till att bli
        ett par kyssar mot mina läppar som
            i rundningen av detta chokladägg
       att känna avståndet mellan två kyssar
    & förstå möjligheten av att
andas in meningsfullhet i choklad
    hönor eller ordälskare på holländska
       trots allt finns det flera sammanträffanden på
    våra språk som vilar sig mot
  varandra likt två trötta cyklister
för alltid kyssandes på en tyst cykelbana 

& att känna till rymden av detta utrymme
    den fysiska meningen av ett ord inte
       menat att leva i ett uppslagsverk men i 
            munnen för flytta in hos holländskan
       likt stjärnor genom outforskad rymd
    är trots allt inte språk som ett skinande 
rymdskepp för alltid tumlande framåt
kyssen kyssarna att vara det att vara
     ljusa & exploderande stjärnor våra liv
        fulla med kurviga statiska ord vi önskar
    flytta mellan stationer på
rymdlinjer vår destination kyssen

& om jag någonsin lär mig ordet för kus
      på mitt eget halva språk i vilket
  jag kunde ha fötts till att vara att inte
               bli hörd att tala utan att höra
           smackljudet av den kyssen mot 
      fönstret till rymden att höra det nalkas
eller att avgå kanske vid ankomst
      jag kommer andas luften som kallas holländsk
           & veta hastigheten på den på den privata kyssen
                mellan kyssarna lika mjuka som skuggor
           födda på läpparna upplösta på vad som känns in i
      att vara varande jag är att kyssande är att vara levande.

International Translation Day: Saskia de Jong’s ‘pier’

pier
 
at ijmuiden they’ve asphalted the sea
now the sea fingers the tar
looking for itself
just like a sniffing sow smells what
formerly was a part of herself
 
along the sea, they’ve built upon sand,
            constructed views
and installed loudspeakers outside too
so that music drowns out the slang of the waves
it’s understood exactly where you are
 
go back to the start