Tidskriften Periferi är en favorit! Prenumerera vet’ja: https://periferi.eu
Redaktören Lars Andersson handplockade en av mina texter till det senaste numret. Och min vän Simon Patton har gjort en fin översättning av detta prosastycke.
Fancy such a tragic myth being filled with so much beauty. What a wonder it is to hear an exact replica of one’s own voice for the first time. I was four or five years old. My grandpa and I were out strolling aimlessly through the pine forest, when suddenly it opened out into a wide clearing. The sheer wall of a cliff rose up opposite. Putting his hands to his mouth, Grandpa curtly hello-ed in a loud voice. Almost immediately came the sound of an answering hello, exactly the same. I looked at Grandpa, flabbergasted. “Do that again!” I said to him under my breath. The next time, I kept my eyes keenly fixed on his mouth. He hello-ed again and then shut his mouth. The same hello-ing call replied. I shook my head in disbelief and I asked him where the voice came from. Grandpa pointed in the direction of the cliff-face with his powerful smith-hands. “Try it!” he said, and I hello-ed just as he had done with my small hands around my mouth.
My voice came back just as his had. “But how on earth can a cliff know how to respond?”