Skånsk Rapsåker

Scanian Rapefields

 by John Ubal 

In the Scanian Plains

where sheep sway and goats pray

where rapefields all at once golden dance

and mightless willows in rue lay

In the Scanian holms

scared amid runes and timbered homes

You mighty grew there

loved, laughed, and saw the snow gloam

In the Scanian Deep

the world looms near and blue

widens open as you bat peep

keen you weep and scheme to rid the heap

In the Scanian Plains

there you loved, laughed, and saw the snow gloam

thunders hammered down the cold feet

and wind and ghosts saw you go

On today's every whim

Writing has always been intimidating for me. Partly because I often think of the fact that most people expect a good deal of wit in every line, in every cast set expression. Mind you, I don't regard myself as particularly witty. Fighting back the witlessness is, however, a moral duty which I have put off for way too long simply for not having much time for welding the pluck and power to wage war against it.

Today I thought of this again, and had the sudden wish to write about the place I had the luck to be born in. Well, whether this was truly luck or a total funny feeble joke of fate will have to await further insight.

Anyway, one thing is for sure, namely, this sinister place passed as quite unseen for the English speaking world. Alas! Alas! More than twenty years in the south tail of the world, away from pretty much every thing, can be very throttling and a real joke.

All in all, maybe I shall get the muse from misfortune, and so I hope this little experiment will give more than someone a pleasing read.