Stockholm memories, scattered and smothered

First things first, or Loose Ends Tied Up While-U-Wait Department:

I arrived at Arlanda airport in Stockholm early in February 1969 without a coat but my condition did not last long. On my first day at the IBM building in Lidingö I met the colleagues with whom I would work for the next month. There was Herman Holm who managed the department, Conny Evborn (Conny is a man's name in Sweden), Lars-Öve Hultgren, another Lars whose last name I don't remember, and Gunnar Göhl (pronounced Goo-nar Yul). All of us were under 40. Gunnar spoke to his wife by telephone and then invited me to his home for dinner that evening. When Gunnar and his wife realized that I didn't have a warm coat with me, they let me use one of Gunnar's coats for the entire month I worked in Sweden. I returned it to him a month later with profuse thanks for their generosity.

Gunnar's wife, whose name I also do not remember, helped me learn a few more Swedish words. She said upon greeting me, "So you work with elvah trettio too?" and I, uncomprehending, cast a quizzical look at Gunnar. "Eleven thirty," he explained, and I realized his wife was referring to the IBM 1130 system I had come to Sweden to learn more about. I made a mental note to learn numbers in Swedish as quickly as possible, as well as how to make change and how to tell time, and I did. Those things are almost as important to know as how to find a toilet.

Knowing that Gunnar's wife also worked outside the home (not that common in the 1960s), I asked her what she did and her reply sounded like "I am Jeannie Kellogg," which drew more blank stares from me. I asked her to say it again, only slower. I listened very closely and heard "jee-nee-co-log." I made a gesture indicating I still did not understand what she did for a living. Only when she told me she was a doctor for women did the light dawn. Gunnar's wife was a gynecologist! This was probably the most embarrassing, awkward moment of my month in Sweden.

I remember going to the cinema one evening to see Franco Zeffirelli's new film Romeo and Juliet. The signs out front said Romeo och Julia. It was in English with Swedish sub-titles, and although I enjoyed the film it was a little strange to see Shakespeare's words in Swedish.

I remember watching episodes of the American program The High Chaparral on the TV set in my hotel room. Like Romeo och Julia, it was in English with Swedish subtitles. It was a western, set in Arizona in the 1870s, and it featured both Anglo and Mexican characters. It was a bit jarring to hear someone say "Si, señor" and read the Swedish equivalent (not "Jawohl, mein herr" exactly, but something close to it) displayed on the bottom of the screen

One afternoon Herman Holm invited me to join him for an evening meal and offered to drive. He had learned that I was a pianist and organist, and he stopped at the Lutheran Church he attended to show me their pipe organ. When he asked if I would like to play it I jumped at the chance [this is an Americanism meaning I said "Yes, definitely!" with enthusiasm; no actual jumping occurred]. The instrument was more than 100 years old. The keys one would expect to be white were brown, and the keys one would expect to be black were white. I think I played the old hymns "Holy, Holy, Holy" and "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God" (Martin Luther's Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott) but I could be mistaken; memory is a strange thing and can play tricks on you. After dinner he delivered me to my hotel on Strandvägen in the Östermalm section of the city. Strandvägen is a broad avenue alongside a major canal. I told you in an earlier post that Stockholm is called "the Venice of the North".

Stockholm is about 300 miles south of the Arctic Circle, and at the time of year I was there daylight lasted from about ten o'clock in the morning (klockan tio) until three or four o'clock in the afternoon (klockan femton, klockan sexton using a 24-hour clock). The place probably would have seemed cheerier, less dreary, in June or July when there is much more sunlight, but I am glad to have had the experience I had.

I visited such places as Drottningholm and Konserthuset and Hötorget and Kaknästornet and Stadhuset and Gamla Stan, each of which you may look up for yourself if you are curious. One day I witnessed the changing of the guard at the Royal Palace, and one day I went shopping at NK (pronounced En-Ko), an abbreviated way of referring to Nordiska Kompaniet, the big department store, where I bought Swedish toys for my children and had six crystal water goblets (Kosta's Gustav VI Adolph pattern) shipped home for my wife in Florida. Fortunately, they arrived in perfect condition.

I left Sweden a bit poorer, but also quite a bit richer.

Did something get lost in the översättning?

The photo above is of Gamla Stan (Old Town) in Stockholm, Sweden. It is the oldest part of the city, dating from the 13th century. The green-roofed building on the left is the Royal Palace where King Carl VI Gustav lives. I was in Stockholm in 1969, from February 1 to March 1, when King Gustav VI Adolf lived in the palace (Carl is his son). I've retained a warm place in my memory for a very cold month during which I visited Drottningholm, Hötorget, Stadhuset, Östermalmstorg, Strandvägen, Lidingö, and other things Swedish.

I'm showing Gamla Stan to you because of a strange thing (strange to me, at least) that I found on the Internet: Edgar Allan Poe's poem, “The Raven,” in Swedish. The poem was first published in 1845 (in English), and at one time thousands of American schoolchildren were forced, forced I tell you, to memorize part of it along with “Annabel Lee” and “The Village Blacksmith” and “Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard” and “Flower In The Crannied Wall (I Pluck You Out Of The Crannies).” Maybe you remember the first stanza of Poe's “The Raven”:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“'Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more.”

Well, in Swedish, the title becomes “Korpen” and the first stanza is:

Trött en natt jag satt och drömde vid en gammal bok, där glömde,
bakom seklers förlåt gömde tankar hägrade förbi.
Knappt jag börjat slumra, förrän något knackade på dörren,
något pickade på dörren, ticketick det ljöd däri.
Upp jag blickade och sade, väckt ut ur mitt drömmeri:
“Nå stig in! Vem söker ni?”

Excuse me. Vem söker ni? Vem söker ni? I don't see a question mark in the English version of the first stanza. Do you? Underneath the Swedish title on the Internet page were the words “Översättning av Viktor Rydberg” which I presume mean “translation by Viktor Rydberg.” Maybe Viktor should go back to the drawing board; something of the essence of Edgar Allan Poe seems to have been lost in the översättning.