a poem by Elle-Hánsa
*
LULEJU
FIVE FRIENDS IN MEMORIAN
EPITAPH
To five faithful friends of my people
This
dream is dedicated
To
celebrate their loving memory
For
generations to come:
†
RUOHTJ
AJÁVRI
†
LUOKTANJÁRGAJÁVRI
†
RÁIVOJÁVRI
†
VUOKSAJÁVRI
†
SUORVAJÁVRI
*
Written at Laakese, Sápmi 26.
- 30.12. 1977,
revised
01. - 07. 01. 1978.
and
Tj
áskil, Leavnnjas, "
09.07. 1978.
I
What
is more joyous
more
healthy and happy
than
a boisterous mountain-brook
in
the heartland of old SÁPMI.
fresh
and free
since
the first Day of the Earth
sane
and sound, yes:
what
is more healing to the human soul
when
it is overtroubled
coping
with suffering and sorrow,
than
the cleansing song of a stream?
And
when it swells to a mighty river
with
shouts of joy and laughter
jump
fearless down the hills
over
stones and rocks
spraying
the happy herbs on its rim
with
a shower of sunblessed dew-drops,
the
waterfalls invite the strong salmon
to
challenge the stream's fall downwards
with
a mighty jump upwards,
till
it finds rest in a lake
this
most sacred spot of calm solitude,
mating
ground and cradle for many a creature
playground
and home for all the fry,
parents
love to see happy children
make
the lake their life's delight.
The
brook, once so small
now
proudly carries its living wealth
to
the next lake, then another,
five
in all, and between
the
mild murmur
and
rushing rustle of the river,
a
song of love for Creation!
The
Luleju
River and its lakes
give
birth and support many a being,
a
beautiful birch-forest
soon
adorn the banks.
The
animals of our ancient land
found
refuge and feed for life
in
the safe shelter of this forest,
their
thirsty tongues
were
quenched and comforted by its waters,
the
sacred springs of SÁPMI,
the
blood and life of our land.
O
my people, who season after season
show
such true gratitude
in
faithfully serving
the
balance and creative cyclus
of
a strong but sensitive land!
A
land full of fruits and riches
for
those wise enough to share.
The
wealth of our Sámi homeland
is
more edible and useful
to
creatures seeking for nourishment
than
is silver and golden power,
because
it is cared for
in
such a way that it reproduces itself
by
means of the secret Master-code
hidden
in the first germ-cell of the Universe.
Never
take more than you need
and
your children's children will bless you,
because
you have gained such enduring wisdom.
M
o r e is the curse of modern times
in
those days, even in suffering, we could sing.
yes.
a love-song indeed was this bound to be,
but
damned! the devil is also here!
Hush,
my brook, not so loudly and free,
don't
let them hear your
sanssouçi
!
*
II
A
foreigner, a king in another's kingdom
walks
on the old path by the lakes,
steps
aside it, stops, take notes and numbers.
He
is a field-officer from royal Stockholm
where
his masters have made him
proud
of his job:
the
use of advanced apparatus to measure
the
levels of lakes on maps and paper,
so
easy to handle those expensive tools
almost
like playing with children's toys,
he
smiles taking down another figure
for
the big industrial progress.
The
"wilderness" of "Lappland"
have
been found fit to pay
for
those who foot in the frontline
of
the World's greatest wonder since the sun:
The
Industrial Revolution and Progress,
Electricity,
Hydro-electric Power!
The
power of Nature, at last
is
under command of the mind of Man,
man
needs more light in his leisure, too,
which
politician dares deny that?
The
lakes in the "wilderness of Lappland"
the
potent falls of its rivers
shall
and must be dammed, and out
of
these five little lakes
shall
there come more:
a b i g one.
Another
number in his notebook:
at
school he was the best in his class in accountancy.
But
what is this, we make him an evil,
he i s not the devil. He is just one
of
the many who has got a job to do
of
which he in particular is even very proud.
Though
pride never understood the poor,
behind
him are all the millions uninformed
and
all that money, he has
just
a
promille
-part in it all,
the
responsibility is not his, therefore
and
who is to blame? The dam
will
and must be built,
who
can stop the Progress?
Yes,
who will stop it? and he does
for
a short while, and gazes in amazement
at
the sudden beauty of the landscape.
Even
if swift clouds, carried by the wind
in
this day of destiny for this valley
cast
heavy shadows and hastily sweeps
the
protesting waves of the lakes,
and
the rush of the leaves
in
a sudden outburst of the gale
blaming
the stream for being so gay
to
continue its song of a happy paradise
when
such a day as this has come ––––
the
Sun suddenly strikes the Earth,
powerful
rays make clear its authumn-clothes,
the
land wakes up with glistening colours
so
powerful like flames of fire!
quickly
moves across the moor
just
like a warning, then it is over,
the
shadows now sleep where the fire burned
the
red and yellow heather have turned into ashes.
But
in the shadow of a raincloud
with
the mysterious background
of
lofty Áhkavárri-mountain
lifted
over ashes and flames
millions
of airy waterdrops
made
by the sun into radiant diamonds,
the
rainbow.
God's
own poem and promise to Creation:
Never will I punish Humanity again
like
this, with a deadly, drowning water-flood!
*
Unable
to notice such inspiration
unable
to heed such wonderful warning
the
expert takes no numbers down;
even
though his tools are intricate
with
his advanced apparatus he can not
come
even near to the rainbow
nor
grasp it's treasured secrets.
All
he does is to put up an umbrella
to
shelter himself and his instruments
from
rain of the sky and rays of the sun.
As
he hurries back homewards
to
his portable, synthetic nylon-tent
(the
first to be used in Sweden)
to
get ready to leave for Stockholm
never
to come back, he hopes,
he
passes the
siida
of a Sámi family
they
are not in, not even a dog
to
stop him, if he would steal:
the
old-fashioned fishing-boat
seems
ready for a try on the lakes,
a
trip into the midnight sun
"Oh
what a wonderful life they live!" he says
while
we must go here toiling in worry –
oh
yes, I must remember to mail that letter
telling
them to prepare for the future!
As
he goes to bed with his trophy
a
reindeer-horn he found
left
alone without a head,
he
dreams of his wife and their children
yet
not born, if they shall have any at all.
"I
wonder if they will like
my
Lappland souvenir I'll bring
the
proud horn and antler
of
a real reindeer from Lappland!
I'm
sure they will, he says, almost sleeping.
*
III
The
old goahti,
shelter of many a
trustful time
of
happiness-sharing between Sámi families,
simple,
but true as the mountains themselves
welcomes
its wandering people.
Young
and old alike love the warmth
that
comes from the hearth of a goahti,
listen
to the thrilling tales and tremendous story
of
a tribe surviving in scanty arctic
for
more than ten thousand polar winters.
With
the very fire that gives warmth and light
in
the gloomy time of arctic night
the
Sámi people have survived
together
with it
through
the centuries that went and came.
Sometimes
the flame was almost extinguished
but
even the most feeble flame
or
the most humble and faint smoke
told
its story of a stubborn fighting glow
deep
inside the hearth of my people.
With
this little child inside our small body
carried
through the centuries
we
were able to keep close together
families
united in a Sámi siida,
where
parents are equal partners
in
carrying out responsibility for all,
where
the oldest and youngest were not isolated
but
willingly took their share of the work
to
tend and cultivate a heritage of traditions
laws
developed since olden ages
to
protect and care for a living land
life
to make others live.
All
over SÁPMI the faithful siidas
were
the very guarantee and security
for
the heritage and health
of
this part of our irreplaceable hemisphere.
This
little glow of simple love
for
the Creator and his work of art
Creation
and all its creatures,
this
spark of eternal joy
carried
us over
the
dangerous cracks of glaciers
over
the icy uproaring streams
across
the desolate desertlike plains
or
the death-sucking swamplands in between,
in
to the safety of a well-built goahti
a
turf-hut, a tent cleverly constructed
cool
in the heat of a summer day,
warm
and close and cosy in the frost of winter.
The
glowing sparks from the crackling fire
run
upwards through its open ceiling
followed
by the laughter from ancient folktales
humour
and wisdom so masterly combined,
stars
lifted high above the siida
sent
to be seen
like
they want to tell the world outside:
We
are here
we
survive,
the
Sámi people of the North,
Come
in and share
our
happy hours
stay,
they are so short,
before
the burden
of
daily duty
call
us all to take our share
in
caring for our Earth
and
each other!
*
IV
Morning
comes, awakened with the spirit of dawn
the
people prepare to continue their work,
not
just like a job, this is their life.
Most
of the siida-people
go
healthy and fit to the reindeer-flock
to
train a trek-animal
or
mark the clever calves
that
escaped the swift suohpan,
the lasso
of
the quickest herder
since
last time in the gárdi
where
the mixed flocks now are gathered
shouts
and the constant run in a circle
the
flock demonstrate its freedom
with
sharp sounds of their sinews
as
they all run to escape the sharper eyes
of
the siida-isit,
the owner
looking
for his particular part.
Suddenly
a look leads into action
fast
as a flash he throws his suohpan
ropes
a silver-swift bull-to-be,
it
is stubborn, but at last
they
manage to hold it down
while
the sharp knife
makes
the necessary marks in its ears
to
separate it from the other beasts
and
make it a part of their eallu,
their life
"better
this" thinks the youngling
as
it relieved runs away,
than
being between the teeth of a wolf
or
caught in the claws of a mighty eagle
or
swallowed alone by a cleft between rocks.
Here
I am not alone".
*
V
Now
is the time when night begins
to
grow and compete with the day.
One
early morning in the mystic mood of twilight
Siida-isit
goes out of the goahti
earlier
than the others, for some reason,
maybe
he should repair the fish-nets now
examining
them carefully.
He
holds the well-worn net
so
neatly tied by trained hands,
this
net have brought us many a meal
now
its threads are broken
and
in the middle of a big gap,
won't
be winked at: But ho! What is that he sees:
Through
the hole of his net
a
dead fish is floating on top of the lake
white
side up as to show its innocence
that
this is no suicide,
and
around it a few leaves and a flower.
The
family father throws away the broken net
and
rushes to the rim of the lake
but
splashes in water before he reach it.
So
wet here, and it hasn't rained tonight,
did
it rain tonight, my son? No, says the son
just
arriving his home,
proudly
holding two ptarmigans up
"at
least I got some in my giella,
my snare"
he
smiles as he goes in.
He
has been out watching all night
the
reindeer-herd for wolves,
longs
for a smiling meal.
Not
will that smile last long, thinks his father
as
he intend to send him as soon as possible
to
the far away village, to its office
and
ask some of the
dá
O
at
there
what
the foreigners have done
to
our clean and pure food-chamber,
what
happened to the lake!
Last
time when they came from the mountains
he
couldn't see or feel anything strange
except
the usual sound of small waves
talking
the language of sleeping well.
Maybe
they were so tired after hard work
of
three days and nights out in the open,
it
was dark, the autumn is already in power.
Now
he is almost afraid of these signs
will
there be less of the smiling meals?
Such
signs, - the old people didn't tell about it,
has
he ever heard of dirty water and dead fish
at
the same time: some catastrophic accident
among
the beings in the bottom of the lake?
He
looks at the lake and the floating fish,
so
unnatural, then a hasty hawk comes to catch it
but
ere his claws touch the water surface
it
turns away and flies back to the mountain.
Certainly
something is rotten and wrong,
he
must look into it later, but now
they
shout from the goahti: get some food.
He
walks inside with slow, heavy steps,
then
as he smells the tempting scents
of
a well-prepared tasty meal of nature
he
reminds himself with a smile:
"Well this time the hawk won't have his meal,
but
I most certainly will!"
*
VI
Autumn-winter
means much hard work;
the
reindeer-mothers with their calves
must
be kept aside from the rutting bulls,
now
is the time to milk and make cheese,
after
the meal the whole siida goes to work.
On
his way to the herd siidaisit thinks
what
might have happened to the lakes of his land,
and
will later, to the creatures in and around.
Then
he sees far away two strong reindeer-males
with
impressive big horns
fight
with each other head to head
horn
clatter against horn,
two
bulls are fiercely fighting for control
and
the respect of the females.
Who
will win her territory
and
proudly issue the mating call?
Or
will they both die this day of the fight
because
they are fighting each other?
New
worries have come into the heart
of
siidaisit, as he goes further.
During
the work, which he almost can do blindly
he
wonders what all those new signs mean.
*
VII
While
all the adults have gone to the mountain
even
some of the children follow them,
the
oldest áhkku,
too weak for their work
yet
what a wealth of wisdom in her eyes
to
support and strengthen the hearts
of
hopeful broods yet unhatched,
she
sits outside her tent
watching
the youngest have fun.
while
some fine handwork keep her fingers busy.
Through
the laughter and shouts of the children
she
remembers her days of the past
and
nights keeping watch over the herd
on
the white mountain-plateau, the duottar
high
above the forest line, orda
with
nothing else to keep her company
than
the stars, sometimes the moon
lighting
so softly the resting herd
even
the dogs sound asleep on the snow,
what
a thrill in her body
as
she could witness such solitude
and
the ghostlike guovsahasat,
the northern lights
pursuing
itself in a flight for rest
would
send waves of mystical wonder
shiver
as an echo in her soul.
She
would pray them not to touch her.
Then
on the sound of a wolf she would shout back
to
keep the fear away with a howl
and
when that just made many howls appear
she
would yoik a luohti
with gentler sounds
if
the beasts might have a hearing heart
it
would certainly appeal to it:_
Do
not take from our little flock,
it
is the only we have for life!
She
would remember a happy person in another siida
and
yoik his luohti, this person
later
became her husband.
Now
he is dead, and she sings his song, his luohti
silently
for herself
can
almost see and feel his presence,
those
wise, old eyes blessing her age.
The
children love her too,
they
are busy with games they love to play.
But
unlike certain games in this world
theirs
have a purpose, a natural plan.
their
game is a training for adult activities.
They
test their skill
in
catching each other while running
with
the suohpan, the lasso rope.
They
play as children who aim to grow
not
like some who plays for pleasure
of playing
whether
he is a child or not.
The
dominating materialism of modern society
produce
people who never learnt in childhood
that
all, even play have a purpose to
serve.
Therefore
all they do nowadays
becomes
less than children's play
in
their official adult society.
Nature
and nature's creatures, its people
become
like toys in their hand.
Their
running the world
is
a threat to its security and survival,
they're
like a gang of rascals
disobeying
their Father
playing
with paper, pistols and puppets
an infantile struggle, a game of power
of
who's the strongest
in
a world where people need peace!
*
VIII
Áhkku, áhkku
! shouts from afar,
the
grandson is returning from the village:
a
letter has come, a letter from the capital!
As
he breathless gives it to áhkku
she
says jokingly to him:
This
is certainly not for you or me,
no
love-letter is this!
No,
says the boy, it is from Stockholm,
from
the Royal Hydroelectric Department,-
almost
proud of his pronunciation,
what
does it say?
No,
answers áhkku, we must wait
till
father comes home, it's for him.
As
they all come home from the mountain
the
shocking script gathers the whole siida
like
was it a religious meeting.
With
difficulty they get through its foreign language
but
its intention is clear enough
like
thunderclash from an awesome lightening flash:
We
have to move, disappear
the
rivers are dammed,
the
lake will grow bigger
overflow
it's banks.
"Move
your homes further up a bit,
prepare
for the future!"
In
the letter is stated
that
this is the second warning,
but
the first letter
was
never received, did it disappear?
The
expert only knows.
Mii
fertet jávkat,
we disappear, asks
áhkku,
but
what about them, the children?
The
father can give no answer,
he
has to ask the river, our lake.
Now
he understands the dead fish
and
all the dirt on its level.
Will
they kill all the fish,
our
future, our children?
*
IX
What
happens to a child
if
in rage you punish and beat it
even
if it is innocent of your guilt?
You
cause physical pain, and worse
it
becomes a victim of psychic terror,
words
that you have invented for yourself,
mental
disturbances
hardly
ever to achieve balance any more.
Cut
off a finger, cut off a foot,
will
there come a new one?
Like
this you turn off for life
Nature's
creative progress.
They
have amputed me, my land,
our
lifegiving rivers
meant
to fill the needs
of
coming generations
have
now to feed the robots, the generators!
This
is done to my body, my land
to
our own dearest mother!
They
even ask and expect us to forget
the
crimes and injustices that have passed.
But
how can you forget an amputed arm
if
that was the one you brought or
food
to
your hungry children with?
A
distant but disturbed childhood
can
not be pushed aside with
words
,
the
need for an arm will always be there
because
it is not where it should be.
An
official annihilation of the right to live
for
us, whose destiny, like that of all
is
unavoidable death, but even that has its timing.
We
do not have an infinity of time to take from.
While
you enjoy in self-conceited security
what
you hold for a lasting happiness
the
amputated body is back with all the problems.
It
won't take long, shall this continue
before
the last Sámi looks himself in the eyes
in
the mirror of a doomed lake
that
swallowed his people, and now wants him, too.
More,
more, isn't that the word?
*
X
A
shadow has been cast over the siida
like
a mighty curse sways its hearths.
Asked
to move they can't realize the truth,
but
the dam doesn't wait for them
and
water grows and flow into the goahti.
In
painful resignation they take out what they can
another
site has to be found,
but
there is no other lake they have.
(lake once friend, now
enemy)
So
a new goahti is built
quickly
but with quality and skill.
It
is good that our homes
in
this shadowful world
are
moveable and easy to build,
not
like the palaces of foreign kings
where
once built only a war can remove them.
Much
care goes into the work,
this
will be the home for the whole family
where
young and old and all between
respect
each other's individuality.
In
a goahti even the dog is welcome
to
share the warmth and the food
after
sharing a hard days work.
That
night (when work is done)all sleep well,
now
even the wolf and the eagle
are
friends of the Sámi people.
What
is their taking of reindeer calves
for
the need and feed of their young ones
to
the greedy beasts of a fish
that
will swallow five innocent small ones!
But
now, silence, --- sleep well!
*
XI
Not
many meals have they been able to enjoy
in
their new-built turf-huts
when
the expert from Stockholm suddenly appears.
Leaving
behind the manners of Swedish sociability
he
walks right in without knock or notice,
with
a smile this time, not paying heed to their surprise:
"Oh,
what a nice knife you've working on there,
how
much does it cost?"
"I
don't know" says the father, "yet."
"Well
you see when I left
this
land of the midnight sun
the
only thing I got from here as souvenir
was
a worn old reindeer-horn left alone
superfluous
in this land of plenty,
I
took it home, but they wanted something else.
So
I thought I should buy some handicraft.
My
neighbour in Stockholm, by the way,
he
is second in command in the iron-enterprise of Giron,¨
he
has got a guksi
in which he has
a
lot of arrogant pride, I can't be worse off, can I,
how
much do I have to pay, my goodness
what
a wellshaped sheath!"
What
is this, thinks
áh
??
i
,
he
want to pay ere the product is clear?
"You
can have it", says the father,
no
need to pay," and gives it to him,
"taking
our land you can take this too."
"O
thank you" says the expert
admiring
the almost finished work,
"I
am in a hurry, have to leave today."
Áhkku
whispers to the giver:
"One should never
give
away a knife, according to what the old ones said."
"Oh,
it doesn't matter, he says back:
what
shall we do with traditions
when
they have taken away our land?"
The
expert, content putting the gift in pocket,
"Just
one more thing, before I leave:
This
letter is for you; that's all I can pay with."
"What?
a letter, for me? From who?"
I
am sorry, says the expert, I have to say
it's
from the Royal Hydroelectric Department...
"But
we have already moved."
"Well
you see, the dam is too small
didn't
fulfil the expectations,
some
underestimated calculations
have
made it unfit out of fashion already.
We
must think of our responsibility
of
building up an industry
this
country must be strong enough
to
compete in that matter, too
with
powerful competitors
like
Germany and Great Britain and others, many others."
"But
what has that do do with us."
"Well,
you see", continues the expert
in
a milder tone, but gaining in weight:
"You
will have to move again."
"Again"
almost shouts the siida-isit,
Maid dat dá
O
a dadjá,
asks áhkku
.
she
does not understand the language.
"Yes...
further...into the future."
The
siida people are too shocked to protest,
in
a persuasive manner
the
convinced expert continues:
"How
can you, after all
go
on living like this?
I
am sure because of lack of hygienic conditions
the
death-rate of your children
must
be quite high
because
they are not kept clean,
I
mean, you have no wrappings
on
your food, just eat it the way it is,
straight
from nature, maybe
you
do not even wash your hands!
Can't
you see what time we live in,
how
new and proper demands rightfully
have
entered the scene of natural life,
and
with the help of modern technology
the
future is ours, isn't it?
We
who have made up this land
worked
steadily on it for ages
it's
advanced society, it's culture,
the
future is certainly in our very fist!"
As
the audience neither curses nor praises his sermon
but
gaze with troublesome eyes and trembling hearts
at
him, he goes on explaining:
"I
know this can't be easy for you,
but
is it better that millions of homes
in
this our Swedish homeland
shall
be without electricity and power,
not
to speak of all the factories
that
produce all the things that we need
for
our daily well-being."
As
he pauses to get some breath
his
eyes fall on a little girl outside
where
there are no houses
nor
any factories needing electricity,
she
plays with some sticks
making
up a reindeer-herd out of them,
(blocking
his vision of bored Swedish rascals in contrast
to
the happy and natural intelligence of this girl)
and
he goes on:"Of course here in the wilderness
you
might think such power is not needed,
but
maybe one day Civilization
will
take pity on these poor scanty areas.
I
am sure it will come here, too
one
fine day. Without this dam
there
would be no toys for the children,
kettles
for the housewifes
or
magazines for the men,
no
sewing-machines or aeroplanes
with
which we can reach unlimited lands!
Well,
our daily work is so hard
so
boring and demanding
we
need more leisure
and
more interesting tools
games
to use up our freehours,
all
the things that we have longed to own.
And
I want you to know this: I myself
tried
to ask for more time
so
that you shouldn't need
to
move in such a hurry.
I
even proposed a little sum of money
a
kind of compensation, a help, but no.
You
know, they are hard on it
those
business men down there.
They
brushed aside my objections
like
the ashes from their cigars:
"Those
tiny lapp.dwellings
they
are the smallest price paid
for
such a promising power-project,
this
is Sweden, not their land:
You
must show some harder stuff
if
you want to stop the Swedish Steal
!"
Even
I wanted to open up
a
shop up here, but I have to wait
till
next year, they're hard, aren't they?
I
hope to be a shopkeeper who sells and buys,
maybe
even your neighbour. Therefore
to
be proper I would like to pay
for
this beautiful product,"
pointing
to his pocket-bulge
where
the knife can be seen.
As
he places some coins and a paper-note
on
the floor, he silently says goodbye
and
walks away like before.
When
he can still be seen
one
of the daughters of the siida
silently
whispers, as to herself:
The
lake and the land
don't
like you as you walk there,
they
don't love your approach
like
they love us and trust our steps.
Even
the trees are trembling with fear
(/unrest)
when
you come with your boasting-machines.
You
think you are clean, but
the
dirt is doubled
wherever
you touch the earth.
And
what is death but a friend
if
we honestly serve without shame
our
God-given purpose and each other!
The
oldest son is more angry than in sorrow:
"Had
we not given the knife
I
don't know what i then would have done!"
Some
of the children are crying,
but
áhkku is the one who tries
to
cheer all the others up;
she
has gone through this before,
kept
many a wolf away:
"Maybe
we should ask him if he has time
to
mend our broken fishing-nets!"
*
XII
Another
silent night is disturbed
by
the bullying busyness of the bulldozers,
mocking
the purity of Mother Earth,
naked
noise exhibited here
in
the kingdom of sweet and pleasant peace,
through
destroying only constructing
a
new road, the broad way of no silence.
Disgusting roars dirty the air
that
once was the home of happier songs,
hell
has come to Sámi land!
nursed
by lust and liquids
from
deep down under the depth of darkness,
spreads
its sickening songs
through
the incredible magic of boosting batteries.
Look
at the rivers, even the eagle
refuses
to eat its dying fish
its
waters polluted with dangerous poison.
Those
who dare to take the juices of growth
from
their natural connection with life
be
prepared for their revenge,
as
they turn into death-bringing tissue,
when
the smallest are killed even by its smell.
The
artificial lake grows so unnaturally large,
like
an ill-natured, untimely tumor
spreading
its sepsis all over the body,
our
earth is infected
and
who can ever cleanse it from this sin?
The
silvery beauty of the trees is attacked,
the
birch-forest, unprepared
does
not know its own drowning
until
it is too late for rescue.
The
lust waters magically made
from
a friend to a fearsome foe,
creep
up and lick the white stems of the birches,
steal
their simple pride and beauty
stripping
them of their last protection
deprive
them of their chance to serve creation,
rape
them till the result is death,
and
they fall for the power of a dammed lake
designed
for self-indulgent forgetting of facts:
These
trees can never be used
to
build another Ark for Noah!
Some
are pulled down by powerful machines
man
wants to show himself
and
the God he thinks he has killed
who
is now the Lord of Nature,
and
who the conquered losers are.
And
many are their falls
as
the motors utter ugly howls.
But
to the driver they are like music
with
selfish pride beating all morality,
stopping
the birds in the middle of their singing.
But
beware! you proud one
run
by your greed and lust:
Stop
the machine which carry you along,
stop
it, and listen!
Look
up. Look down, and all around:
if
you are honest and listen enough
you
will hear
from
the depth of drowning lakes
even
the stones will tell you the truth.
*
XIII
As
a result of the small lakes
being
swallowed by a big one
the
siida has split into smaller pieces.
The
other goahtis are already drowned
their
families found it too hard
and
moved with their herds away
to
other poorer parts of old Sámiland,
or
they have, as the dá<a would say "got a job"
to
keep the Swedish society floating
on
top of the hopes of all others,
so
that those may have something to look up at.
*
XIV
Áhkku
sits alone outside her goahti,
trustfully
watching the ancient land of her race.
The
look of a drowning landscape
and
the unnatural appearance
of
an artificial lake
cannot
bring forth in her soul
any
vibration of happiness or joy.
She
lifts her eyes up to the mountains,
rugged
rocks and mighty cliffs
when
shall you too fall?
Her
eyes meet the horizon
where
land and sky kiss and depart,
beyond
the lovely plains of her childhood,
she
is thinking of the handsome past.
And
as she pauses for a moment
in
her work with her handloom
she
wonders when her youngest grandson will come
so
that she can give these shoe-ribbons
and
a pair of neat little gápmagat
she
is making for his unborn child.
He
is married to a rivgu
but
the baby will be her great grandchild,
no-one
can deny that.
So
she yoiks an old luohtti
to
accompany her old, trembling hands
as
they serve the bright-coloured woollen treads
with
such care and love and hope:
You
heavy and slow
pregnant
of spring
now
is the time to get along
at
a jog and trot
valla
ne ne ne na na na ne ne ne ...
set
off at a trot
to
the tree-clad valley
and
the lichen of the stones
ve
velle na.
She
yoiks the pregnant female reindeer
to
come to the tree-clad valleys
of
the now drowning Luoktanjárgajávri.
They
are ready to give birth
to
a new generation of hopeful beings.
How
long will they be able
to
bear their young ones
as
a thanksgiving gift
to
the land that is their own mother
and
once made them grow since childhood,
a
sacrifice to the Creator of Life?
Next
spring perhaps the forest is gone,
and
the flood will force the mothers to move
further,
away, over the tree-line
where
no forest protect them
or
their tenderly shaking calves
from
icecold winds or attacking beasts
of
the unprotected nakedness of the mountains.
Suddenly
she hears the humming sound
like
it was a huge, buzzing horsefly.
Her
old eyes can barely see
something
approaching from distance,
a
black spot running on the lake's surface,
like
a foreign, overgrown insect,
she
almost goes inside the goahti for shelter,
oh,
it is them! The voice of her grandson
can
be heard through all the buzz, it is them!
As
the motor-boat come closer
shouts
of joy from the young ones
greet
their old grandmother.
After
the meal and many a smile
they
talk of days gone, and then
she
comes with the present for the unborn child
a
beautiful pair of gálluhat
sámi
moccasins of whitest reindeer-fur
and
handwoven ribbons to tie them
to
the baby's lovely little feet.
May
those be its comfort
for
the first step in its life,
those
steps are the most important.
Oh,
thank you, says the father-to-be,
that's
too much of a gift.
Not
at all, says áhkku, I'm the grandmother
and
soon I'll become the great one, she laughs.
When
do you expect it to come?
Not
in another month, says her grandson, thinking:
I
wonder, once my baby is born
what
kind of world it will be.
It
certainly will not behold
the
birch-forest of our beloved valley,
the
once so lovely waters of its lively lakes.
Certainly
not, and the young ones now
are
in schools most of the year,
where
they learn the manners of their masters.
And
their parents go to work
in
the mines or in the power-stations.
Who
would think that possible
when
in the past we so strongly protested?
But
it is like this dam of theirs,
the
dam of development,
that
is a word they often use.
Like
magic it makes those who are
accustomed
and content with old traditions
flow
over with new demands.
Who
can stop it, once it has got
one
of its feet on our land,
a
stone from the sacred arran
is stolen,
the
centre of the siida, its circle is broken,
soon
the whole siida will be gone.
These
thoughts he don't dare to air,
his
rivgo wife is there,
they
fall like leaves to the bottom of the lake.
She
looks smilingly at the gift from áhkku,
is
just about to put it away,
when
her husband takes a last look at them:
"What
use will those be to you, my baby
in
the halls of the Swedish cities
where
the floors are colder than ice
even
harder than stone.
Will
you ever even see a goahti,
or
run with soft-dressed feet
blessed
by the eager care of áhkku, free
like
a joyous little reindeer calf
over
the sunglowing mountains of our land,
or
will you rush the slippery streets of Stockholm?"
He
has tears in his eyes, let's go says his wife,
but
áhkku doesn't listen to them.
She
gazes with longing eyes
at
those beautiful plateaus
where
she used to watch her flock
for
foes or angry beasts.
her
grandson is just about to tell her
that
they'll have to move the goahti once more,
but
hesitates as he hears the beauty and sorrow
of
her timid, trembling voice
evoking
many a memory with her,
once
again she's áhkku, the one and only wise one:
I
would yoik
while
I tended the reindeer
I
yoiked on the slopes
where
I watched.
Vele
velev velev velev vele velev...
I
would yoik ...
velev
vele velev ...
nenne nanna ...
*
XV
The
electrical power is not everlasting,
the
greedy growth of industry
the
increasing turmoil of superfluous things
depend
on direct exploitation
of
resources that always have to be new.
But
say, my friends, what will you do
when
all the batteries are gone?
In
royal Stockholm it is decided
that
a film shall be made
from
the land of the lost lakes
before
it is all changed
and
too late for the complicated camera
a
record for History to consider
the
right and wrongs of humanity.
If
they can. A loaded team is flown
up there
to
film the land on remembering ribbons.
The
leader of the team is young,
yet
for his age he has gone through a lot:
Married
to his friend's best wife,
then
divorced, and married again
to
his art: the making of films, not love.
On
the last stage, however, of their journey
the
batteries don't work in a proper way.
They
have to wait for new ones
hurredly
to be sent from Stockholm,
because
up here no electricity
can
charge its silent sleep. Lazy rascal!
And
how in the world
do
they survive up here
without
batteries or any thing else,
is
the comment. It is rather cool
now, too.
A
snowstorm in the Arctic summer
don't
bother about such petty worries,
but
keep them inside waiting
with
enough time to think of it.
the
leader has made up his mind,
don't
want to give in for a storm!,
he
wants
to make that film.
What
he never got in excitement
with
his daring dance with life
as
he took from others their women,
he
tries now to catch on film:
The
lasting joy of holding happiness,
nostalgic
dreams of a fantasy-land.
When
the storm is over and the stage is clear
he
gets down to his work. And he's
clever.
Clever
enough to avoid the worst
of
the destruction-work of the dam.
Else
it would be a theatre of death.
He
leaves the scene half and content.
For
far in the future years afterwards
they
will send his film in a TV-program
and
say perhaps:"How well they did their duty,
to
preserve that valley for History
Europe's
last wilderness on film
for
every generation to come.
The
world should be grateful for that!"
Isn't
it?
*
XVI
This
is the story of life and death
of
five of our mother's children.
When
shall it end, or will it go on forever:
is
the justifying of such injustice
tolerable
into eternity, too?
There
is a new nameless lake
in
old Sápmi, the land of our ancestors,
who
named each part of it
as
if they were their close relatives.
But
this one is a foreigner, not even a lake,
although
Dá<a has given a name for his device:
Áhkajaure
is the artificial name
after
the mountain nearby
as
if it from now on was selected superfluously.
That
lake, no, not a lake, that thing it is
has
already begun to act
according
to its education:
kills
and swallows reindeer, even people
on
it's deadly surface of ice.
The
water under this tricky decoration
is
needed now and then by the name-masters.
So
they empty it a bit any time
for
the industry needs some more power
from
the generators it is meant to serve.
And
the snow-covered surface
suddenly
cracks and breaks down
swallows
whatever is on it.
No
sign of warning no fence of
protection
requests
for compensation is not crowned at all
like
was it just meant as a big joke.
Ageless
Áhkavárri has to witness all of it,
but
wish to turn away in shame
on
their behalf who have caused it:
the
merciless flood fills its destiny
lick
the walls of the last goahti,
which
one in succession it does not know,
mountains
seldom can count,
but
so can the stars, small but so many.
the
hungry waves attack the walls
they
are proud of their powerless prey
extinguish
the fire of its hearth
applauding
its funeral pyre.
Áhkku
is sent to an institutional home for the aged,
an
old people's house in the town miles away,
according
to the wish of her relatives
who
had to give in for stronger press.
The
fourth and last move of her goahti
became
too much even for youth's excellent spirits.
The
newspapers called her stubborn and stupid
to
want to resist victorious progress,
they
put her in a bed; robbed of her
homeland
she
has no more power to resist.
The
room is as dark as the sun is bright,
as
closed as the sky is wide.
The
air is thick as a lake,
no
breeze in her nose
no
sun on her cheek
to
tell her that spring has come.
*
XVII
Dull
days of darkness inside
out
of reach of the blessings and beauty
of
a bright-shining midnight-sun.
Into
her room comes instead
the
expert from the Electrical Power Dpt.
The
film is finished, he tells,
but
does not waste any explanation on her,
she
won't understand anyway, he thinks.
Instead
he has brought her a colour picture
of
the dam and the big lake.
Seeing
it she sighs, and says in a sad way:
"Vuoi,
my lakes, where have you gone,
my
sisters, where have you gone to sleep?
Tell
me, where is my Ruoh
?
ajávri,
where
is Luoktanjárga-jávri now?
What
happened to Ráivo-jávri
once
so rich and full of rávdo-fish?
Where
is proud Vuoksa-jávri,
someone
has swallowed lake Suorva?
Even
if I went far away, up to Ultevis mountain
I
would not see them, oh what would I see?"
"Ahkajärvi"
he points to the picture,
unable
to understand her words.
But
as he sees he does not succeed
in
cheering her up, he goes on
"Here's
something for you,
(poor
old thing)" and he draws up
an
envelope from his pocket, full of money
and
puts it in her hand:
"Finally
we got through to you
with
a better message than the previous ones:
and
this is the sum granted you
by
the Hydro-Electric Power Society.
Yes,
the project is well under way
giving
a lot of money to the land
and
power to the building of industry,
after
all this immense investment.
Now,
this is a kind of compensation
to
you, the last to live there, of course
we
have had to take away some tax.
But
since the project has been
such
a prospective success,
and
now every initiative prosper in this land
I
too have earned quite a lot on't
and
would very much like to contribute a sum"
he
says and draws out a second portion
places
it in her hands.
Unable
to grasp it, she let it fall to the floor,
he
has to take it up again
and
place it on the little table by her bed.
"I
take the gift, not for my own sake
but
for my relatives, with thanks,
who
now have been made to rely
not
on my little amount of wisdom
but
on my huge piles of money.
Where
is my goahti,
priceless
shelter for old and young,
where
is my land
full
of unwrapped love for our lives?
You
can take the tax ten times
but
you can take nothing from me,
because
I have all I need,
more
is not for me.
You
can't berich me
even
if your brought into this room
all
the money in the world.
I
have found a treasure
that
is above life and death."
"What
do you mean?" says the expert
in
embarrassed amazement.
"If
you were as poor as me
and
yet so incredible rich
you
would hopefully understand."
"Oh
yes, you're lucky. Goodbye.
I
almost envy you all that money!" he says.
She
looks far into the future
or
back in the ancestral past.
Silently,
almost humble
he
moves towards the door,
then
he hears her voice again:
"I
want to ask you something."
He
goes towards her bed again,
is
it love he can see in her eyes,
although
they flow with tears.
he
holds his breath
as
she now bears forth her last
her
most heavy sacrifice:
"Can
you forgive me for my bitterness
against
you and your people? Please say Yes!"
Bewildered
at this uncommon question
he
is in no condition to even give her a nod.
After
a trembling pause she concludes:
"I
have forgiven you. I have lost my hate," smiling.
"Now
is the time for me to leave"
he
finally stutters out.
And
in closing the door to her room, confused
rushing
trough the corridor
he
says these words loudly to himself,
behind
him are all the millions:
"She
belongs to the past,
not
future for her. My goodness, forgive me?
After
all I have done for them!
A
clean bed in a sterilized room,
what
more can a grandmother want,
and
all that money, too!
After
all, I have done what I could
according
to my education,"
yet
a little thought, a faint little feeling
runs
through his brain like a flash of the time.
A
funny feeling that after all
she
is completely right
and
he himself on the wrong track,
running
like a slave of some mysterious Monster
that
calls itself Devilopment
but
no one he knows can even define it
only,
like himself, wrap themselves in excuses.
But
this little spark of enlightenment
he
doesn't dare let it light the flame of his conscience
too
much uncompleted yet, - I'll wait till later,
and
thus he disappears
among
the numbers
of
those who didn't dare to do what is right.
Another
brick in the terrible wall
rising
up between Mankind and the lasting Day.
He
leaves the place with the illusion
that
he has understood it all.
But
people of eternal modernization
have
no time even for understanding.
Simple
truths.
And
how, then, could one apply them?
*
XVIII
But
what is this, she can feel
a
sudden and slow dissolving of Time
into
what is even above it,
breezes
of spring touch her body
the
pains disappear like a dissolving dimness
and
her tearfilled eyes
that
were stopped by the wall
can
see through it,
the
mysterious mists of sorrow and suffering
seem
to lift and melt away.
Has
she finally reached
the
goal of her travels
she
has longed for all her lives?
Beautiful
meadows with grass and flowers
blessed
by beautiful rivers and lakes
where
the smiling snow.spots of the mountains
is
praised in the mirror of their waters.
Is
this the SÁIVU sometimes mentioned
by
the old ones in long nights of winter?
Everywhere
is green and fruitful
this
land of plenty
that
the Sámi people
have
migrated towards
since
the first beginnings of life.
She
can see thousands of people
beautiful
faces with loving looks.
We
have lived and longed for this lovely land,
at
last we have faithfully found it,
we
have won, the lost land of SÁIVU is ours!
she
tries to lift herself up, but is lifted,
everything
is done for her already.
She
hears words and songs
all-including
yoiks
she
never heard before,
yet
she fully understands them all.
Everywhere
is the feeling
soft
and lifegiving breath
surrounds
her and fills her whole being,
whispers
of joy and overwhelming love
surrounds
her, the she suddenly sees
a
Wonderful One
sp
full of Glory, it must be the King,
and
the voices sing loud and clear
inspired
by the Everlasting Power.
Surprised
and in wonder she sees Him
with
a crown like the rainbow
coming
towards her.
In
a voice relieved
from
the damnations of the world
renewed
in body and soul
with
soft clean lips
she
says his sacred name
embracing
and embraced, forgiven,
her
Friend and Master, the Prince of Peace.
As
she whispers his name again and again
lifted
up and away in perfect affection
moved
by the blissful emotion
of
her last
lihkahus
in
lasting ecstatic joy,
someone
knocks at the door.
*
XIX
"Can
we come in?" Three times, but no answer.
They
knock at the door to her room.
No
reply, so her relatives open the door,
loaded
with presents they will give her,
bought
in the town, some even sent from Stockholm,
expensive,
yet with joyful voices they shout:
"See
what we have brought for you, áhkku!"
But
she don't see it, nor does she hear them,
they
realize she is gone to the other side.
She
is dead, they inherit her money,
but
have lost a far greater treasure.
Victims
of a wealthy and overflooded society,
they
fought the wolves in the past and won.
but
had to capitulate for superman Stállu
in steel.
They
put their presents down and cry;
they've
lost her, her spirits,
their
link to the future.
*
While
the tourists buy tickets
for
a tour in the motor boat
and
throw chocolate-wrappings in the lake,
the
oldest of the siida
is
carried by her relatives
to
be buried near the tiny little wilderness chapel.
The
funeral songs may not reach far
as
they have to compete with the roar of the motors.
But
they go up to the clouds at least
and
from there fall down
as
heavy weeping rain
baptizing
the grave of áhkku
for
a hopeful future,
but
interrupting the tour
of
the irritable tourists
who
have to turn back.
With
complaining rage
they
curse the rain
even
if they get back their money.
The
drops fall softly now
making
rings on the shining surface
as
to discover what is there, too:
the
buried and forgotten happiness
of
one of the many siidas in Sápmi.
Thou
Lake of unnamed sufferings
when
shall thy curse be broken?
The
Dam, with a demonic grin
stubbornly
stops the stream of life,
and
only consumes according to its own needs.
This
Triumphal Arch of Devilopment
this
gateway to the flood of Styx
and Sin
that
drowned with injustice our hopes
and
keep the happy times
locked
in behind bars for ever!
From
the depth of your wet grave
the
stems of dead birch-trees
like
fingers of a skeleton
force
their way up from the depth of misery
to
grasp something in the air,
demanding
a Day of Judgement.
The
dam is too high
for
the hare to jump over,
and
if it dared
it
would land in the clean and dried death-bed
of
a once so powerful river. Look!
What
is more depressive to the human spirit
than
this sterilized scree
cleansed
of all its life,
although
it has already earned the name
of
"One of the many ways of Progress."
Self-appointed
experts who only see through tubes
have
touched and fumbled
with
the secret threads of Natural Balance,
disturbing
and destroying the laws of the Earth,
put
its circulating system out of order.
Your
own children will curse you one day for this.
The
Circle of Creation when broken
becomes
the bewitched Spiral of Evil:
further
and further one has to follow
downwards.
Yes, some call it Devilopment.
The
Creator of the Rainbow has seen
the
pain of Creation caused by this,
has
heard from the depth
of
five drowned lakes
what
each of the stones have shouted in pain,
suffering
souls that the world has forgotten.
*
XXI
And
as if this was not enough
the
exploitation is still going on:
Foreigners,
not content with the wealth
the
destruction of the land has caused,
a
land cultivated through the care
of
the hands and the hearts of my people
since
age-old times,
now
Dá
tj
a start to conquer our
spirits, our souls,
exploit
us by sowing the seeds of hate and bitterness
in
the tear-wet ashew of our siida.
My
people, wake up, beware this brew!
The
world, our Family, deserve what is better!
Wake
up, and look around.
There still is peace in some forgotten
corner
in
some sacred grove of our forests.
There
still are winds that can be trusted
coming
from the lofty snow cobvered mountains
bathed
in the soft light of the evening sun.
Not
all the lakes are cursed with dams,
not
all the birds have ceased to sing,
¨ the
stars are still there to smile from above.
When
the snowflakes dance through the Universe
like
stars coming down with good news,
there
is a hope in this world of ours
if
we justly give time for it and listen!
Listen
with your heart, your eyes
to
the growth of a little green-hope in Spring:
what
a power it has that plant!
Fighting
through the icy snow
bravely
it lifts a beautiful flower
over
and upwards
blessed
by lifegiving light from above.
Do
not make a dam, but open your hearts
for
that tiny little brook
the
Creator has made of your soul,
let
it run and grow
to
bless the thirsty and hungry
and
they in turn will bless you!
*
The Sámi words in
the text have been written using the present orthography by the kind assistance
of Samuli Aikio, Ohcejohka, who also has looked through the text. Thanks to him
and also to Arden Johson for correcting some mistakes and suggesting some changes,
of which I have followed most. The author asks pardon for not having used the
local JULEV dialect.
Published for the
first time by KEVISELIE 1981, printed from my handwriting, and with my photos
at Øytun Trykk, Alta, 10.des.1981, .
(on the back
cover:
IS IT RIGHT
OR EVEN DEMOCRATIC
TO IGNORE
A PEOPLE'S WISH TO SURVIVE
ACCORDING TO TRADITIONS
TESTED BY TIME ITSELF
AND DAMAGE AND DESTROY RESOURCES
THAT WE ALL DEPEND OUR LIFE ONE?
IS THERE A LIMIT
TO HOW FAR DEVILOPMENT AND PROGRESS
CAN PUSH ASIDE PEOPLE
EVEN IF THEY ARE
SMALL
IN NUMBER...?