Øyvind Torseter’s thin lines are as if created for the thin outline of a reality that is weathering. Because isn’t it like that that everything becomes fragile – both in the person who is about to lose his grip on existence and in the person who has to stand powerlessly on the sidelines and watch it happen? Mother disappears in the book of poems “How did you know I was here?” we as readers understand, without it being stated directly, that the words revolve around memory loss and a crumbling perception of reality. The text presents a you and an I, it is mother and daughter. The daughter sees that the mother disappears little by little into her own world, at the same time as she loses her grip on what is here and now. Sometimes we follow the mother’s experiences, other times the daughter’s, and occasionally Åse Ombustvedt manages to capture them both, as here, in this fine little poem that says so much: Confusion and grief The book consists of 69 small texts, some only on one line. They can be read separately or as one long poem. This is not a chronological story, rather it revolves around an atmosphere characterized by sadness, despair and confusion. CRUMBLES UP: The ties to everything that is here and now crumbles and becomes fleeting in Øyvind Torseter’s sketchy lines. Åse Ombustvedt has tried the method successfully before. In 2019, the poetry collection “When am I old enough to shoot my father”, in which she collaborated with the illustrator Marianne Gretteberg Engedal, was nominated for the Nordic Council’s prize for best children’s and youth book. There, too, the small poems could be read individually or together, in a strong narrative about a boy who is physically and mentally abused by his father. The texts in this first book for adults contain immediate feelings that many can recognise, whether we have been relatives of a person with dementia or not. Brutal and naked Alzheimer’s is a brutal disease. And challenging for those around. How do you talk about something that hurts so much? This is precisely why it is so good when someone tries to put the experience into words, as Åse Ombustvedt does here, or as Scotland’s Ali Smith has done in his great seasonal quartet. Smith enters the experiences of an old person who experiences his surroundings in his very own, confused way. It also becomes confusing for the reader for a long time, until we understand that we have to interpret the text completely differently than we are used to and see the world through the eyes of a dementia patient. Acknowledging the pain Here at home, both Kjersti Anfinnsen and Anders Kvammen have put words and pictures into what it can be like to live with dementia. Cultural expressions such as stories, cartoons and poems can help make dementia less taboo. Perhaps they can also give recognition and strength to relatives who certainly often feel helplessly alone. Åse Ombustvedt’s words are followed by Øyvind Torseter’s illustrations. His light strokes underpin the experience of losing one’s grip on things. While he shows with straight lines and square precision how important structure and order can be for a confused mind, in another drawing he allows the very face and hands of the old mother to burst open and flow into a strange and perhaps anxiety-inducing dimension. WHERE DOES CONSCIOUSNESS GO? The bare institution room is easy to define with a chest of drawers, a filler eye and a closed door. But where does that door lead? A newly acquired security But the new existence does not only have to be full of anxiety. The poems show that it also has something beautiful in it. In between, it can offer a calmness and security that knows no boundaries. “How did you know I was here?” is a book that may seem simple, but the author does not take his serious subject lightly at all. The book is small, yes, but nonetheless important.
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“How did you know I was here?” by Åse Ombustvedt – Reviews and recommendations
