johannaovelius-writing - Tumblr blog

[johannaovelius-writing]

CONTENT ESSAYS, WITH LINKS:

(so far all published essays are in Swedish, though don’t miss the text About where we’re at and what we can do) all poetry and other texts to be found in the menu

4. Är Medborgare bara arg underhållning för de privilegierade? 3. Tankar om tre dikter 2. Perspektivets effekter i Främlingen av Albert Camus 1. Ömheten filmrecension

more texts from 2019-2021 coming soon

[johannaovelius-writing]

in this song

The park is laying still and the trees are still waving in the wind, I see it from the window of the two story building still leaning against the hill, from where you saw it in the middle of your deepest loss and most naive dreams Numbers were counted already then That's all we were and all we will be for them And that's why we hurt but won't give in That's why we keep fighting for us, keep looking for what we know we will find, no matter what they try to make us believe The little lady was dancing through her pain, I know how she felt and kept the dirt around her, she just danced instead Danced with it And pots would be left for the cat to clean, she loved it, they loved her when she was seen The sounds would never come out, that was the only thing she cared to hide, they were left for only her to be heard, screaming at the root of her feathers

In the room she was dancing To the poems sung, the voice of soul To the cold ones walking down Avenue Four She was leaning against the frame of her window in a pause and twisting around again to her dance, the dance that was only hers, inside the window she touched herself and maybe someone saw her in the room that she was dancing her shoulderblades coming visible in the mirror behind her as she moved to the song, the voice of soul The cat laying in the chair, watching her from the side, upside down The dance kept moving her hands, her hair was loose and flying around She touched her breast and in the mirror showed her bones and her spine Her lips apart, her eyes closed, her eyes drowning in the light from the lamp hanging down over her Everyone keeps moving outside, their world keeps turning as what it might be for them The cat is caressing herself against the floor to which she moved, she's moving around to the spinning record and the voice of soul in this song The young lady keeps dancing as her dress falls off her shoulder, as she dances her dress falls to the ground Her bones seen in the mirror from behind Pictures show and pass in her mind, slowly spinning her head around In the new year that just have come, she's all alone, she is high, she is alone, she is high, dancing for herself, dancing for anyone, dancing herself high The old body laying on the street where she left it to die, the shell, it was always shallow and now it is left to die, freezing as the night comes, just like it has always done, but always tried to hide She is moving, she is alive, her body is dancing, she is seen in the mirror from behind She keeps touching herself in her dance Something comes over, a veil, she never disappeared, she only turned the off the light A veil of pleasure, she lights a candle and she lays down If you listen carefully you can hear her voice, it whispers sounds from the root of her feathers She moves slowly, the circle is eternalized now It seems that it moves faster, the record is spinning faster Her deep voice is singing now, it is singing high She raises herself again to dance Her feet are heavy on the ground, her head leaned back, her mouth open wide Her legs start shaking, she shivers, she falls to her knees, looses her grip She gives a sigh, she leans over the chair that caught her hands, and she lays there still for a while Then as she raises slow, moves, she pulls her window up She leans out towards the night The city keeps moving The record keeps turning Voices still sing She is alive

January 2015

[johannaovelius-writing]

he didn't do no bad, he only showed the world its handicap

[johannaovelius-writing]

SMOKE, MIRRORS AND SHADOWS - A FILM ABOUT BRITTSOMMAR (US) (2015)

Presentation text for my first documentary from 2015.

Once a lie was told inside a bedroom door, wood was knocked, bags packed, strings were strung, and finally songs were sung in the forest of the Scandinavian north, of dreams and lies formed in nothing but a knowing until the day they arrive in a native tongue. Just like Sawyer Gebauer, the ringer of Brittsommar, takes his Americana roots headed for the road and a life on foreign continents, his music seems to come from a place we all know well and takes us with as it keeps us moving through the unknown.

After crossing an ocean and a country he eventually landed in the San Fransisco bay and the storm with him, with a space of fluid sounds in his mind, from within and without, just ripe enough for new songs to be recorded. Sheltered by the not yet made music, strings were played, voice and beats swirled together, lies were turned into something else, The Mary Me EP was made.

The music of Brittsommar wears eyes that have seen the wide landscapes of a north country farm, feet that have walked far, stories that have come along and the exhale of when they're gone. The words of Brittsommar never sates, they are not only a reflection of the narrative but of the reasons it exists. For every tale told there are two more to know, for every end wrapped together there are two beginnings that unfold.

Once you break in your boots there is no land to be unbroken. Through Smoke, Mirrors and Shadows we follow Sawyer Gebauer on this journey, that has gone through cold and dark north countries, loud cities and rainy coasts to the recording of a new album, a rediscovering of the music and of its Americana roots.

[johannaovelius-writing]

A simple question and I'd like to hear and you try to show me the tattoo on your thigh but there is something on the wall you keep on finding

You say didn't you see that but there is no form, then who is there something wrong with is it you or is it me

Through all of this I only hear your broken love, for her your last girl, she’s all around don’t tell me she’s gone

Your unaware moves try to convince me I'm hurt by her existence, but no I'm only hurt by her dreams

And isn’t it too obvious, no one dares to question the lack of questioning the lack of resolve

Because love lays over it all and we're awake for now

And you love my hand and I think of Molly

And I wish we could be awake together but you're only awake for her

[johannaovelius-writing]

THE OPPOSITE

It takes you places you don't wanna go Nothing is your choice And it steals your sight Then it takes you fast Down a one way street that is way too narrow Your breath it goes The dream and the beauty was paint that got washed You have nothing to give and your body knows It wanna take you to sleep But the blanket is cold Yes your sight is gone So you are no one If you can't fall asleep It will take you down under

[johannaovelius-writing]

What am I gonna do about the blood on my hands White lies stuck on my tongue, turned into teeth A shape took shield beneath what I can touch My hand won't stop bleeding You say I make it up and no one can see it

[johannaovelius-writing]

I heard a whisper from the depths of the Dead Sea someone screaming quietly I'm drowning in the stream

[johannaovelius-writing]

FRÄMLINGAR

jag har aldrig varit bland kropparna på nyheterna dom vi känner solidaritet med dom vi bryr oss om över ett glas av champagne och skålar och varenda en av oss i hemlighet önskar viskar att med inkluderingen, med det här deltagandet kanske, ikväll, kan jag må bra igen

jag skulle aldrig kunna vara bland dom hemska, omänskliga som förgiftar vår värld vi vet, det finns ingen anledning det finns inget att förstå det går inte jag mördar inte, jag är inte totalt bortom kontroll det är bara att kolla på mina papper där ser ni vem jag är

jag har aldrig varit där soldater bär handskar för att inte röra vid den död dom levererar för att inte röra med sin mänskliga hud någon annan någonting

jag är här där kroppar är bra för ekonomin där kroppar är för dyrbara för att visa på nyheterna dom egna måste sörjas kroppar blir historier vi är människor

jag är här där vi kan behålla tystnaden under leenden, under trevlighet för vi kommer alltid hålla ihop så länge allt består så länge vi är enade så länge det finns ett hot

jag är här där dom radikala säger att problemet är att vi inte vet vilka dom är dom tar våra jobb, dom jobbar inte att vi ska hjälpa dom att vi måste inkludera och välkomna alla färger alla ska ha rätt att ha råd att köpa kläder i blått och gult så att dom kan vara med och fira midsommar, vara med och fira jul att vi måste läsa på om den andra kulturen så att vi kan behandla varje fall med rättvisa stå på dom grunder vi alltid stått behålla vårt mod, hedra vårt språk och aldrig lära oss ett nytt ord

inga hus brinner inga broar det finns inget vatten ändå

(framförd som monolog 20171019-20171020)

[johannaovelius-writing]

jag kan inte läsa poesi, varje ord bränner mig mellan raderna ryms en hel gejser som bara kokar min svämmar redan över, jag kan inte se vad jag läser

[johannaovelius-writing]

do you know how to catch the child without hurting her when the innocent flies away with my dreams come you and the memory the night the wind caught my wear the days are full of concern not knowing the hole in the way there is no world and I can not afford to go do you remember the frequency of my breath the night the wind caught my wear

[johannaovelius-writing]

desperat eller kåt? på livet or just confused borstar tänderna och gråter faller bakåt fångad caught by the wall golvet är hårt men ändå andfådd the night falling no nej den finns bara everything is too good

[johannaovelius-writing]

ska jag försöka eller ge upp som nåt slags sätt att bli verklig men verkligheten är inte sann

[johannaovelius-writing]

Every instance stolen, owned by enemies And never dared to wish Of a word for a time Where of an end not raped is something I can think And the air around me possibly exists A speak not drowned in silent noise A room that can be emerged Where a man can know to be torpid Where there is something called dirty There is the most silent whispered thought of why In the constant struggle of the potential eye This was the ordinary life And the fish don't swim

[johannaovelius-writing]

dagen innan visste jag ingenting, så stog det i en av hennes dikter dagen innan jag träffade dig visste jag ingenting så går jag runt varje dag, och tänker jag vet ingenting

[johannaovelius-writing]

vi älskar varann så mycket sa han men det va nåt som störde någon ställde en fråga och väntade på svar reportern log, kameran ändrade vinkel sen kunde vi höra nu har allt återgått till det normala igen, alla dansar och sjunger som vanligt, ler som vanligt vi får bära vilka färger vi vill i vår egen stad det finns en eftermiddag vi får dansa på gatorna fira att vi står med dom utsatta vi får protestera och sjunga en sång för dom som inte hörs i mikrofonen han som rapporterar om vår demokrati om ministern som säger att det är en viktig dag att nu ser vi hur vår själ ser ut inuti att det här är vårt land, och att jag är glad yttrandefriheten är vår lag

[johannaovelius-writing]

Hur mycket du än försöker Kan du aldrig vara svensk Den som säger sig vara ljuger Du kan gömma dig bakom en blågul fasad Men du har svept in dig i en flagga Insvept sedan vaggan Du älskar Amerika Hollywood, utan att veta Och mamma och pappa Men inte de andra Du tror dig välja Välja bort det du inte vill veta av Men tittar bara åt ett annat håll när du ser nåt På tavlan på din vägg som alltid hängt där Och prydnaderna i fönstret Som om de kunde hålla sig utanför Hålla dig utanför Allt konstigt Deltagande Inte mena något Vara neutral