An Emigre
I have lived in this foreign country long, perhaps longer
then I should. Many seasons I have seen, my hair is grey
brow wrinkled from seeking understanding. I know their
culture and sing their songs. But I came here as an adult,
I have read Fernando Pessoa, know Fado and can talk
about my favourite singers. Yet, this culture is not in my
soul it does not echo in my heart. I wanted to be a part of
my new Iberian country, but when I remember a lullaby
my mother used to sing a cold Nordic winter night; when
guests have gone home and the party is over, I know I’m
forever a pretender. I have lived here long, too long, but if
I go to back to the old country I will be a stranger walking
in a town where no one knows my name and I’ll dream of
my mythical Portugal.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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