Cecilia Hansson




Sydsvenskan recenserar: ”Vittnesmål inifrån Alzheimers sjukdom Hur är det att leva med en sjukdom som upplöser jaget? I två nya böcker som skildrar alzheimer på nära håll hittar Oline Stig hoppfulla strategier och en viktig lärdom.”

”Mitchells bok är lärorik. Den är absolut inte hurtfrisk, men om man vill kan man läsa den som ett slags handbok i hur man kan leva och samleva med demens. Den kanske viktigaste lärdomen: när minnet sviker finns känslorna kvar. Beröringen av någons hand, en smekning, en blick, ett skratt.Efter läsningen tar jag upp Seisenbachers diktbok igen. Med Mitchell i bakhuvudet läser jag den annorlunda. Inte så att mörkret försvinner. Men det finns en stilla rytm i det uppbrutna bildflödet, i den absoluta koncentrationen som uppstår när kommunikationen upphört och måste hitta nya vägar. Och i mötet mellan mor och dotter som faktiskt sker: ”barfota i det morgongrå / vi verkar / söka efter lösenord / / långt där borta flyger de / om varandra / lever vidare / välordnat / smyckade med blommor”

Läs hela recensionen

”Stor poesi – påminner om bokstävers kraft” – första recensionen av ”Sitta lugnt med ordentliga skor”

Av Sebastian Lönnlöv  Läs mer om Vinterns böcker 2019

Modern är dement, och dottern skriver om sin längtan efter att bli sedd. Maria Seisenbachers dikter undersöker en sjukdom som liknar en död i förskott. Litteratur av den sort som läsaren alltid letar efter, men väldigt sällan finner, skriver Sebastian Lönnlöv.

Den österrikiska poeten Maria Seisenbacher, född 1978, debuterade 2009 med en diktsamling skriven tillsammans med Hermann Niklas. Sedan dess har hon publicerat tre egna diktsamlingar, drivit en litteraturtidskrift och medverkat i ett intermedialt konstkollektiv. När Seisenbacher nu introduceras på svenska är det hennes näst senaste diktsamling som med stor tonsäkerhet har översatts av Daniel Gustafsson och Cecilia Hansson.

Läs hela recensionen i SvD 

Maria Seisenbacher (född 1978) är bosatt i Wien. Hon debuterade 2009 med diktsamlingen ”Konfrontationen”, skriven tillsammans med Hermann Niklas. Foto: Jak Tabor/Máte Bach

Under översättning: Maria Seisenbacher (österrikisk samtida poet). Medöversättare: Daniel Gustafsson.

Ett hypnotiskt, polyfoniskt experiment med Monika Rinck i Stockholm

Översatt till belarusiska, i ”Litaraturnaya Belarus”

En svit ur Revbensdagar, morgnar är översatt till belarusiska av Nadya Kandrusevich-Shidlovskaya. Finns att läsa ur senaste numret av Litaraturnaya Belarus.

 

Рэбры дзён, раніц

(Фрагмент)

 

Ты ствараеш асфальтавы круг вакол нас, я накручваю твой шалік на руку. Пасярэ- дзіне Шотэнтара,
жоўтая маланка працінае мяне. Ты — між маіх

плеч. Пякучы жар; застываю лужынай на зямлі.

Асфальт дрыжыць, вада навісла гронкамі па-над
трамваямі. Завязваю твой шалік пад грудзямі.

Вадаспад раскручвае мяне ў бок Лаудон- гасэ.

Тэлефонная будка, я раскручваю дыск — восем
разоў. Рух спыніўся, машын зусім не чутно. Толькі гудкі — ты адказваеш. Адкрываецца нешта. Я падаю.

5-ы маршрут — да твайго дому. Сцены сціскаюцца
вакол нас. Твая спіна ахінае мяне. І ты гладзіш

тыльным бокам далоні. Мяккія дотыкі здымаюць з мяне скуру.

Я замярзаю, кусаю твае вусны. Ружовыя карункі, баваўняная бялізна. Ты разгладж- ваеш
мае складкі. Чырвоныя плямы на маёй шыі, сляды тваіх зубоў.

Вуха гарыць.

Ты ўводзіш сябе ў мяне, запаўняеш штуршкамі.

Мае ногі загорнутыя ў прасціну. Кропачкі ўкусаў
на сцягне, ты раздзіраеш мае баваўняныя мары.

Мяккія пальцы драпаюць скуру. Чорны волас
на маім сцягне. Вільгаць выходзіць вонкі, пляміць

бялізну, капае на прасціну.

Твая скура становіцца маёй, расплаўляе будучыню.

Хочаш снедаць? Спяшаюся скрозь раніцу, рэха твайго голасу, поўнае стрыманага цяпла.
Перад дзвярыма спальні я заўважаю дзірачку

у сваёй бялізне.

Адзіны кірунак: усе трамваі ідуць у бок выспы Данауінзэль.

Выпраўляемся на роварах. Данауінзэль. Педалі
злучаныя з грудзямі. Цісну — рэжа, я вільгатнею знутры.

Сляды ровара на пяску, я за тваёй спіной. Віхляем між марскіх зорак. Трымаюся за цябе, я не звалюся.

У цяпле месяца рухаемся ў такт. Слізга- ем, круцімся
на коўдры. Твая рука на маім плячы, скура мякчэе,

пячэ. Ты выдзіраеш маё рабро, удыхаючы замест

паветра.

Пераклала са шведскай мовы Надзея Кандрусевіч

 

 

Stockholms litteraturmässa 16 april: om att översätta dikt

Ur programmet:

16:15–17:00: Att översätta kinesisk poesi – Hur översätter man en dikt från ett främmande språk och en annan kultur? Till vilken grad är poesiöversättning en tolkningsprocess och till vilken grad konstnärligt nyskapande? Måste poesi läsas och förstås utifrån kulturell identitet och kulturellt sammanhang? Ett samtal om poesi och översättning med några samtida poetiska röster från Kina i fokus, samt ett smakprov på deras nyöversatta dikter som publiceras i tidskriften Lyrikvännen. Medverkande: Jonas Ellerström (poet, översättare och förläggare), Cecilia Hansson (poet och översättare), Björn Kjellgren (sinolog och översättare) och Lan Xu (projektledare och översättare).

 

Monika Rincks dikter blir kabaré i Malmö

”The project is a collaboration between composers, visual artists and performing artists. In a collaborative process, a . A number of scenes based on the same text will be created. Two texts will be the base of the performance. Monica Rinck’s Anti-himlakroppar: variationer över ett tema av Jules LaForgue from the collection of poems Till omfamningens frånvaro (translated to Swedish by Cecilia Hansson and Anna Lindberg) from 2007, and Aphra Behn’s short poem The Dream. A Song from ca 1680. Rinck’s piece is five variations on a poem written by the French symbolist Jules LaForgue, Encore a cet astre! Rinck’s poetry have a natural drive, constantly changing mood and tone, from sententious to vulgar to popular. Behn’s poetry is full of renaissance mystique and almost impressionistic subtext. It is colorful, odd and thrilling. Based on the texts, a scenic experience have been built. Fragments of the text have been worked out into small theatrical, and/or musical pieces. Actors and singers integrate, and improvisation, sound art and absurdistic theatre also takes place on the scene.”

KABARÈ-AFFISCH

Nora Gomringer tilldelas Bachmann-priset

Härliga sommarnyheter från Klagenfurt: det stora Ingeborg Bachmann-priset går till monsterdiktaren, ordvrängaren & diktkonstnären Nora-Eugenie Gomringer!

Svenska översättningar (gjorda av mig) av Nora Gomringers Monster Poems

Nora Gomringers bok Men såg nåt om natten då

FAZ: Nora Gomringer gewinnt in Klagenfurt

Release för tidskriften Kritiker 15 jan på Fylkingen! Med ”RISK och IDIOTI” av Monika Rinck (i min översättning)

kritiker

Respons – om det förlorade paradiset

Pehr Mårtens skriver på sin blogg:

Comment to a conversation held in Stockholm September 30, 2014:

There are indeed many passages of this conversation on digitalisation and attention-crisis, focusing on reading and translating, that are worthwhile to cite. I even think the whole conversation would benefit from being transcripted and published, perhaps with some minor editing. I, personally, fell especially for a certain passage at 1:23:48 into the recording, when the translator Cecilia Hansson speaks from her heart, in some very fragile wording, starting with commenting on the previous speaker:

”I want to refer to something you said before about care, graveyard and contemplation, because […] I have the feeling when we have these discussions, I realize that I have lost something […] something important, and I don’t know what it is, perhaps the Paradise [noisy recording, is it Paradise she is saying?] … […] and now when I work I try to isolate myself, I go to an apartment where nobody can reach me, where the internet connection is quite bad also […] I read there […] I feel a bit crazy when I go there, because it’s so unmodern in some way…”
I also wonder what is lost. And what interest me more in this citation is the way Cecilia Hansson seamlessly jumps from the feeling of an unspecified loss, to searching and finding herself in another place, out of reach, where internet signals are too weak, as a kind of remedy. I have to ask myself: Why is this seclusion and escape from everything and especially the internet becoming a necessity in trying to regain that what is lost. I have a hypothesis, though, there could be many other, that what is lost is privacy in the act of reading, when you read a text over the internet. The confidentiality is broken, between me and the text that I am reading. The safety in the reading act is gone. It has become an untrusty relation. This is so because of the fact that every move you do on the internet is recorded, every text you read adds to the profiling of your person. It is as if a big robot is reading over your shoulder, that what you are reading. Thanks to the Snowden revelations we know that this is made with different programs that intercept and scan the entire internet with algorithms for the sake of national security. As this problematic of the recent internet debate didn’t surface in the conversation I just want to add something that I learnt on surveillance in relation to literature and reading. Let me cite Eben Moglen at Columbia Law School on November 13th, 2013:

“The anonymity of reading is the central, fundamental guarantor of freedom of the mind. Without anonymity in reading there is no freedom of the mind. Indeed, there is literally slavery.

I don’t ask you to accept that statement on my authority, I offer you the authority of a better man than I, who in 1845 published the first of his memoirs, called A Narrative of Frederick Douglass: an American Slave.

Frederick Douglass wrote in that first narrative of his life how his second owner, Mrs. Sophia Auld, when he was twelve began to teach him letters, and to read a few simple words. But she was vehemently discouraged by her husband Hugh, who told her, when he came to understand what she was doing, that “You cannot teach slaves to read for it, will make them uneasy in their slavery, unmanageable and sad.” Frederick Douglass said “I now understood what had been to me a most perplexing difficulty — to wit, the white man’s power to enslave the black man.” Thus he began to learn more to read, and when Ms. Auld, having accepted her husband’s direction in the matter, found him reading a newspaper, she tore it away from him lest he become unfit for slavery. Thus he was required, as he tells us, to learn to read in secret.

When hired out to Mr. William Freeland, he taught other slaves to read, until such time as the surrounding slave owners became aware of what he was doing, at which point the mob invaded his Sunday schooling place and beat the people and destroyed the school.

Reading was the pathway, Fredrick Douglass wrote, from slavery to freedom. But what if every book and newspaper he touched reported him?

You can go and read almost anything you want, almost any book on Earth, at the headquarters of one of the great American data-mining companies, provided that you let them watch you as you read every page. All books, for free, in the KGB library of Mountain View, California.

Everyone tries to surveil your reading.

If you have a Facebook account which you use, that is you log in from time to time, then not only will Facebook be surveilling every single moment you spend at Facebook — watching what you read, how long you read it, what you do next, where you go to, what you click on from there, etc. — but also every Web page that you touch that has a Facebook “like” button on it, whether you click the “like” button or not, will report your reading of that page to Facebook.” End of citation.

Once I curated an exhibition for the Museum of Architecture on the thematic ”The Inner Space” as I imagined a space for secrets, a completely non-transparent space. A hide out. In doing the research I came across the greek philosopher Epicurus, who decided to withdraw from the polis Athen, and stay in the countryside. His motto was *Lathe Biosas*, translated as ”live in obscurity”. Epicurus argued that to have secrets was a prerequisite to have friends, you entrust somebody with the confidence to share a secret. Furthermore he maintained the opinion that friendship, the institution itself, was a necessity in any attempt to achieve happiness. Thus, the dimensions of the loss of privacy, via the loss of anonymity of reading, are huge. This is why I am so curious to know whether Cecilia Hansson’s word (that was so difficult to hear in the recording above) in her input to the conversation really was: Paradise. (Now confirmed.)

https://medium.com/@PehrMartens/comment-to-a-conversation-on-translating-poetry-in-the-postdigital-era-held-in-stockholm-689c8762b631