I'm a poet. I sing for my existence as a white man in a time of PC decay.
I live in the Swedish county of Angermanland, by the Bothnian Sea. I haven't always lived here; some 50 years ago I was born in the county of Lapland, situated inland and to the north-west of Angermanland.
Both Lapland and Angermanland are northern provinces. They are part of NORRLAND as we call it, a mythical part of Sweden just like Scotland of the Bristish Isles or, say, Texas or some other rough-hewn part of the US.
I'm a Northlander. "En norrlänning" as we say. The following poem tells about my northern heritage.
My voyage began in the heart of Lapland
as a Son of Arya, son of log-floaters and farmers,
eyes blue as the blue sky above,
hair yellow as the fields of rye.
I listened to the myths, sang to the northern light,
praised my creator and began my journey.
I lived among the flowers and the trees,
I read about events past and present,
praising my Nordic heritage as a man of the Svea tribe.
This is my land, this is my people; this is
Norrland, part of Sweden. And Norrlanders
are part of the Svea tribe. The Swedes
were Asatru believers in the past, now
sacrificing on other altars,
always affirming their being,
always proud of their heritage --
a small, striving, hardened people
currently under the thumb of The Powers
That Be -- Swedes, a people hectored
and harrassed, a people crying out for
Freedom -- freedom from the irresponsible
punks ruling them, freedom from debauchery
and treason, freedom from indulgence and
idiocy. Freedom to be what they are:
Swedish, and proud of it.
Related
Nordic Sphinx: A Svensson Poem
My presentation of "Ernst Jünger -- A Portrait" on this blog
Living Traditions' (Australia) review of the Jünger book
