ROMAN PICTURES

Being in a gloomy mood I looked through a file with some photographs I took one evening in Rome, some months ago. I had forgotten about them, though the solitary feeling they provided harmonizes well with the grey and rainy dusk lingering outside my window here in Hässleholm. 

I began taking the photos while I walked down to our magazine where I often sit and write, there I ended up looking at some pictures in the art books I have laying around, before I decided for an evening stroll in the neighbourhood, watching the grafitti. A perishable art form that gradually disappears, as I hope my melancholy mood eventually will do as well. When I came home I gave our fish some food and went to bed.

Some friends of mine use to complain that my blog entries are too wordy, so here I give you one with almost no words at all:  

BLOG LIST

The train to Venice travels over water. We are approaching the enchanted city a week before Christmas, on both sides of the wagon everything is grey. Grey sky, grey water, a glimpse of a wooded island, also grey but of a darker shade. Forty-two years ago I travelled along the same railway bridge,...
Tåget till Venedig går över vatten. Vi närmar oss någon vecka före jul, på båda sidor om vagnen är allt grått. Grå himmel, grått vatten, en trädbevuxen ö skymtades i gråheten, även den grå, fast i en mörkare nyans. För fyrtiotvå år sedan kom jag längs samma järnvägsbro, fast då var det högsommar...
There are now numerous descriptions of where people found themselves on September 11th, 2001. At that time I worked at the Swedish International Development Co-operation Agency (Sida) in Stockholm. At three o'clock in the afternoon the fire alarm sirens sounded and people left peacefully...
Det finns nu ett otal skildringar av var folk befann sig den elfte september 2001. Själv arbetade jag på den tiden på Sida i Stockholm, som då låg bakom Konserthuset. Klockan tre på eftermiddagen ljöd brandvarningssirenerna och folk lämnade lugnt och stilla sina arbetsplatser, gick ner för...
This year we celebrated Christmas in our house in Bjärnum and while I leafed through the more or less forgotten books I had stashed away in closets and storage rooms I found several that I long ago had acquired in Santo Domingo, among them a collection of poems by Tomás Hernández Franco, in which I...
I år firade vi julen i vårt hus i Bjärnum och medan jag rotade bland de mer eller mindre förgätna böcker jag stoppat undan i garderober och förråd återfann jag flera som jag samlat på mig i Santo Domingo, bland dem en diktsamling av Tomás Hernández Franco, i vilken jag fann hans...
One of my uncles was an artist, with an artist's eye. What I as a child appreciated about him was that he like my father always talked with me as if they he was talking to an adult. Even at that rather early age I collected art cards, which I have continued to do during all my life. I do not know...
En av mina morbröder var konstnär, med en konstnärs blick. Vad jag som barn uppskattade hos honom var att han liksom min far talade med mig som man talar till en vuxen. Redan då hade jag börjat samla konstkort, något som jag sedan dess har fortsatt med. Jag vet inte hur många jag har nu. En gång...
Almost forty years ago, I, Mats, Stefan, Hasse and Boris travelled through Europe, Turkey, Syria and Lebanon; a great, tumultuous journey. When I remember that trip it is like I directed the beam of a flashlight towards the corners of a dark room. In the inky darkness a bygone world is lit up. My...
För snart fyrtio år sedan reste jag, Mats, Stefan, Hasse och Boris genom Europa, Turkiet, Syrien och Libanon, en härlig, omtumlande resa. Minnena finns som om jag riktade en flicklampas sken mot hörnen av ett mörkt rum. Inom ett kompakt mörker lyses en avgränsad värld upp . Kanske är minnena...
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In Spite Of It All, Trots Allt janelundius@gmail.com