One of Gunnar Ekelöf's earliest attempts at revolt against society and Christianity took the form of muttering to himself during school prayers "Om mani padme hum". This youthful protest, blended with mysticism, is evidence already of his interest in the East, which he later fed to the full at the Royal Library in Stockholm. Here, through Heidenstam's Endymion, he was led to a book which for a time was to become his favourite, and which was to remain a recurrent source of inspiration to the end of his life: the Tarjúmàn al-Ashwáq ("Translator of the Desires") of Ibn al-'Arabi, called Muhyi al-Din, a 12 13th century Sufi mystical poet. This book, a collection of mystical odes of platonic love expressed in erotic terms, first taught him, he said, what symbolism and surrealism really were.

Three attempts to leave Sweden "for good" in pursuit of his dream sent him first, with the idea of emigrating to India, to the London School of Oriental Studies. The "childish" methods of language instruction employed there drove him back to study Persian at Uppsala. His restlessness next took him to Genoa, where he seems to have missed the boat that was to take him to a coffee-planter's life in Kenya (one thinks of Rimbaud, another youthful mystic, leaving behind his poetry and his visions to live the reality in action), and finally to Paris to study music, but where he was caught and held by poetry, and whence poverty sent him back to Sweden.

Ekelöf's interest in the Orient centred at length around the Near East and Greece. He was particularly fascinated by the Byzantine Empire, with its compound of races and beliefs from East and West, of refinement and barbarity. Yet he hated it. The translators of the selection under review [Gunnar Ekelöf, Selected Poems. Translated by W. H. Auden & Leif Sjöberg. With an Introduction by Göran Printz-Påhlson. Penguin Modern European Poets. Penguin Books Ltd. 1971. 141 pp. This collection is referred to in this essay by the editors' initials, AS.] quote a letter in which he claims that "… Byzantine life, traditionally and according to deeprooted custom, is like the political life in our cities and states. I am intensely interested in it because I hate it. I hate what is Greek. I hate what is Byzantine…. Diwan is a symbol of the political decadence we see around us. Fatumeh is a symbol of the degradation, the coldness between persons, which is equally obvious." (p. 10).

This passion for the Byzantine seems to have boiled up again in his last years, during a journey to Turkey in 1965. The importance of this experience and the richness of inspiration that dominated his last three years produced three volumes of poetry: Diwan över fursten av Emgión, 1965 (written in the space of 4-5 weeks, according to the translators), Sagan om Fatumeh, 1966, and Vägvisare till underjorden, 1967, while a good deal of the posthumous collection of the surviving material from those years published by Ekelöf's wife in Partitur, 1969, is devoted to the same themes.

The present translation of the first two of these volumes is preceded by a Foreword by Auden & Sjöberg containing brief biographical details about Ekelöf, taken mainly from his essay "En outsider's väg" (Utflykter, 1947), and a note about the Diwan and Fatumeh. A short bibliography is followed by a very perceptive Introduction by Göran Printz-Påhlson, who discusses Ekelöf's poetic development and method and the peculiar quality of his vision.

A more primitive level of existence is Ekelöf's real subject man between a life that holds little and a death that holds nothing, the thin thread of being that survives mutilation of the body and returns to the universal on its death, that which is common to beggar and prince.

The main figure in the Diwan is the Prince of Emgión, a Kurdish-Armenian border prince of mixed Christian, Gnostic, Greek, Arabian and Persian ideas. Captured in battle, he suffered the same fate as his Emperor, Romanós Diogénes, being tortured, blinded and imprisoned. In the Diwan he is later freed and makes his way back on foot to his own country, led by a mysterious female figure, who appears in a number of the poems as his daughter, sister, wife, mother, and perhaps also the Virgin Goddess whose image pervades the whole of the trilogy. Curiously enough, in their foreword the translators appear to have confused the Prince of Emgión with Digenis Akrítas, the hero of a medieval Greek epic, to whom they attribute the same fate. It seems clear from Ekelöf's poems and notes, however, that the "I" of the Diwan is this probably imaginary prince, who feels that Digenis has betrayed him; in "Legender" (the second part of the book) he says that Digenis is dead.

The Fatumeh of the second book is, in the nazm (the first section), a young girl sold by her mother to become a courtesan, then the mistress of a prince by whom she has a child; she is then to be found in the harem at Erechteion. In the tesbih (the second section), she has apparently left the harem and is a prostitute; later we see her as a "bleareyed hag", an old worn-out street-walker.

Both the Prince and Fatumeh, through all their tortures and suffering, hold on to the thin thread of existence, borne up by their vision of the Virgin, whose presence haunts many of the poems. Although she is described from time to time in ikons, she is not the Christian Virgin Mary but that other 'more ancient' "barnlösa moder åt oss alla", the "mångbröstade" Panayía (Panhagía), "Medelhavets gudinna", who appears in earlier poems of Ekelöf's (cf. "Minnesbilder", En natt i Oto ac), the Diana of the Ephesians of St. Paul.

In a way, Ekelöf is much nearer to our metaphysical poets in his sense of the continual presence of death; the vision is too consistent to be merely surrealist. Behind his apparent stoicism ("Jag är litet tapprare idag än igår", he would say during his last illness) lies an Indian belief in the fundamental unity of all forms of life, and a feeling that Life and Death are one at the most primitive level. Often in these last books, through the eyes of princess and housewife, prostitute and beggar-woman, even through the eyes of the Virgin Mary, there looks out the grave compassion of the Great Earth Mother, she who has milk for us all. Often through crowded streets stalks the Shadow, of death perhaps, of husband, lover, mistress, child, of someone vaguely apprehended who is a mirror image of oneself. Ekelöf's explanation of the name "Fatumeh" is significant. The original meanng, he says, is "woman who is weaning her child," but he prefers to see in it also an allusion to the Latin word "fatum" (Sagan om Fatumeh notes, p. 109).

In Fatumeh, tesbih 24 (AS 134), Ekelöf says that death is an even number, life an odd one. One aspect of his mysticism is his preoccupation with symbol and number, shown in the arrangement of the poems in the three last books. Thus Sagan om Fatumeh consists of two groups of poems called nazm a necklace, or collection of poems, representing the young Fatumeh, and tesbih a rosary, representing the aged Fatumeh together with 3 single poems. In the East, according to Ekelöf, these rosaries (a pre-Christian device) usually consist of groups of 33 beads separated by a larger bead. In more elaborate rosaries these larger beads are often carved in the form of a python's head. Instead of groups of 33 poems, the poet has chosen groups of 29 (a prime number), "som när det hela är färdigt ger en bättre siffersumma". The arrangement in Diwan is similar, but with only one single poem separating the two groups. This single poem, or "paustecken", is also an "ormhuvud", and its use "antyder också att jag tänkt mig en fortsättning, att Diwanen blivit en art 'work in progress'" (See Sagan om Fatumeh, notes, pp. 109-110).

The total number of poems in the Diwan is 59 (a prime number), in Fatumeh 61 (again a prime number). Vägvisare till underjorden ("tänkt som mittvalvet av ruinen Diwan", i.e. as the second book of the trilogy) contains 43 poems (another prime number) arranged in a slightly different fashion (3 groups of 13 separated by 2 groups consisting of 1 "ormhuvud" and 1 other poem). The total number of poems in the three books is 163, once more a prime number; and no doubt Ekelöf, had he lived, would have continued with this scheme in succeeding books on the Byzantine/Greek theme. Is it a mere coincidence that the posthumous Partitur, although not overlooked by the poet himself, also contains 2 groups, each of 23 items (still another prime number)?

Auden & Sjöberg regret having had to abandon Ekelöf's plan in their version of Fatumeh, but do not explain that the plan applied to the Diwan also. They further obscure the plan by not numbering the poems and by omitting the title of the Diwan's second necklace or rosary: "Legends and Dirges" (Legender och Mirolóyier, ett urval). In any case, it is rather a pity that even if they had no space for the 8 poems omitted from the Diwan they could not include the 4 they left out of Fatumeh. These "collections of poems" are, in fact, strings of matching pearls, with shifting lights and colours, themes and allusions repeated along the rows.

The translation is reasonably direct, with few departures from the text, and only occasional changes of construction. Numerous small felicities and the general flow of the lines ensure that the version does not read too often like a translation. One difficulty in comparing the translation with Ekelöf's published texts is that the translators have incorporated into their version emendations derived from the manuscripts, so that it is often impossible without research to know whether a change or omission is inadvertent, or based on a misconception, or the result of a correction in Ekelöf's manuscript. Although this is only a popular edition, a note of which poems had been emended would have been useful.

I mention here a few other points in the translation which are worth notice.

The title Diwan över fursten av Emgión means a "collection of poems about the Prince of Emgión". It has been translated literally, however, "… over the Prince of Emgión", as if Diwan meant "funeral oration" or "dirge". The dirges (mirolóyier) form only part of the second half of the book, in fact.

The dedicatory lines of this book, taken from Tarjùmàn al-Ashwáq, read:

The translators' version is: "This poem of mine is without rhyme: I intend by it / only Her. / The word 'Her' is my aim, and for Her sake I am / not fond of bartering except with 'Give' and 'Take'." Are "sake" and "take" not rhymes? They echo strongly in the reader's mind and make nonsense of the first line. This could easily have been avoided by a less literal rendering of "för Hennes skull" as "because of Her".

In D21 (AS p. 35), a bird's feather floats through the grating of the Prince's prison cell: "Vinden förde den hit / eller någon annan förde den / Den fick ligga på golvet, länge / innan jag tog den i handen / en vanlig duvofjäder …" The translation here gives: "… or else somebody carried it" and "Before I cradled it in my hands". Ekelöfs text gives a gentle hint that the wind, too, is a being, not a mere object. His "jag tog den i handen" (I took it in my hand) does not express in words the sentiment introduced by "cradled" and "handy"; the sentimental picture is evidently not part of Ekelöf's plan or poem.

In D24, Hayíasma (Hagíasms a purification well) (AS p. 38) "två dunkla ögon" are not "sad" eyes but enigmatic ones.

In D25 (AS p. 40), "ett hemligt ansikte / såg meningsfullt på mig" is translated as "an enigmatic face / looked intently at you". Apart from the translation of "mig" by "you", which does not seem justifiable here, "intently" does not render "meningsfullt"; the line should rather be: "looked at me meaningly", "gave me a meaning look".

D27, another ayíasma (AS p. 42), is devoted to an ikon: "Den svarta bilden / under silver sönderkysst /" … Runt kring bilden / det vita silvret sönderkysst / Runt kring bilden / själva metallen sönderkysst / Under metallen / den svarta bilden sönderkysst" etc. Some ikons were credited with wonderful cures and other miracles, and were carried round from place to place to be presented to the faithful. To protect the picture of the Virgin from the lips of the multitudes, a thin silver plate (the basma) covering the Virgin and Child completely except for faces and hands was sometimes attached to the ikon, as were other details, such as jewels. (An ikon of this sort is described in Fatumeh, nazm 25, "Xoanon", AS p. 107.) The ikon was also occasionally set in a frame of silver. The translators do not seem to have fully realised this, for they render "Den svarta bilden / under silver sönderkysst" and its repetitions by "The black image (here, perhaps, "blackened" would be better) / Framed in silver worn to shreds by kisses". Here Ekelöf is referring to the basma, and "under silver" should be "beneath silver". "Runt kring bilden / det vita silvret …", then, refers to the frame, and the version given, "All round the image", is acceptable.

The other poem about an ikon which I have mentioned, "Xoanon" (Fatumeh, nazm 25), is discussed by Printz-Påhlson in his Introduction (AS pp. 13-14), where he argues that the slow stripping of the ikon, first of its basma and its removable attributes, then of the paint and ground right down to the wood it is painted on, represents Ekelöf's view of the poetic process, his method of arriving at what is common to man, the universal. There are one or two differences in the version given of this difficult poem, some of which may be due to Ekelöf's manuscript corrections. Ekelöf's punctuation is generally very scanty and often rather obscure, but it ought to be respected. Some guidance is given by his use of capital letters only for names and at the beginning of a sentence, not at the beginning of each line as in English verse. "Xoanon" begins. "Jag äger, i dig, en undergörande Ikon / om detta att äga är att ingenting äga / så som hon äger mig. Så äger jag henne." The translated version is: "In you I possess a miracle-working Icon / If to possess is to possess nothing: / As she possesses me, so I possess her". This version seems to me to misrepresent Ekelöf's thought.

In this ikon, "ett vuxet lindebarn" "står på en omvänt perspektivisk pall". This is translated by "On a footstool in receding perspective", an odd expression. Reference to almost any early ikon containing a stool or a throne, however, will show that the perspective is reversed, as Ekelöf says it is, that is the stool is depicted as growing wider towards the back, instead of narrower.

When removing the painted dress and body from the figure of the Virgin, Ekelöf writes: "Jag löser vecken över hennes högra bröst / och varligt vecken över hennes vänstra / med smärtorna…. / … Jag lösgör armarna / … de bruna brösten / det högra först, det vänstra varligt sist / med smärtorna, …". The translation given is: "I relax the creases … / … over the left / Gently, to ease the pain… / … I remove … / The right breast first, then the left, but gently / To ease the pain, …". This "gently, to ease the pain" does not satisfy. The word "smärtorna" is an allusion to St. Luke 2, xxxv, where the aged Simeon says to the mother of the child Jesus: "(Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also), that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed." Ekelöf's meaning is rather that the left breast is the one with the heart, the one with the pains, the pain of the sword and the suffering of the eternal mother before the fate of her child, who is to suffer for many in Israel. These pains are an inseparable part of the Virgin's heart, they cannot be eased but reverence is due to the bosom that bears them.

"The Logothete's Annotation" (AS p. 45), the Diwan's "paustecken", gives an example of a play on words that the translators have ignored. When the Prince of Emgión is imprisoned for four or five years, "Hans hustru eller måhända dotter bad för honom / med kropp och själ". "With heart and soul", which the translators have employed for "kropp och själ", is a common expression in English, but in the circumstances it is more than probable that the princess's body would have been employed as an additional means of supplication. The translation could well have been "with body and soul", though the suggestion is slightly cruder in English.

In Diwan "Legender" 12 (AS p. 58), a hasty mistranslation has confused Ekelöf's image. After shameful torture to make him betray his friends, the Prince says: "Men mitt kön, bödel / är inte mellan mina ben / Mitt förstånd, bödel / som förrådde inbillade namn / är inte i mitt förstånd, bödel / Det är i mitt hjärta, bödel / Stick i det, bödel". "Förstånd" has been rendered as "senses" (pl.) and "Det är i mitt hjärta" as "It is in my heart", which here therefore means "my sex is in my heart". But "förstånd" means sense, understanding, and it is the understanding that is in his heart.

Fatumeh, nazm 29 (AS pp. 112-113) is a poem which obviously describes a picture of a young prince embracing an urn about which is wrapped a veil. From a reference in nazm 23 (AS p. 105), the young man is the son Fatumeh had by her princely lover when she was young (according to nazm 22, pp. 103-4, Prince Joasaph). But the young prince is also to be nameless. Now Ekelöf, among other explanations of the name Emgión (Diwan, notes, pp. 106-7), also suggests that it is merely a description of the Prince's state as a hostage, and that therefore "har min furste inget namn utan han är en Namnlös". Thus the reference to the young prince as one "vars namn bör vara onämnt" is a small example of the many cryptic allusions that link together all the poems of this last period and give them such a strong sense of unity.

However, the picture in the poem is built up partly by a series of questions which strongly recall Keats's Ode to a Grecian Urn; for instance:

Varför välsignar honom trädens grenar
och varför är de evigt vårliga? Och fåglarna
gömda i buskarna, säg varför de klagar
som om de frågade: Vem är därinne?

Whether the translators have realised that this poem is directly inspired by a particular painting is not certain. They have rendered "… allt i denna bild är redan utplånat" by "… everything in this image has faded already". Throughout the book, "bild" is translated as "image", a word which may be appropriate when applied to an ikon depicting the Virgin, but is out of place here. The painting which has evidently inspired the poem is an 18th century Persian miniature that is reproduced on the front cover of Sagan om Eatumeh. If the translators had observed this, they could have added a note.

To sum up, although it betrays a certain lack of feeling for Ekelöf's mysticism and his style, this translation of a large part of his last work ought to reach a very wide public. It would be interesting to speculate on its effect on English-speaking poets, with their very different attitudes and preoccupations. Auden's name should at least ensure that the book will not be ignored.