I WANT TO GO HOME

(At the hospital in Chicago)

I want to go home, sister Anny!
Let me go home to the old country to die!
Let them carry me out of the court-yard at home
let them lift me gently onto the wagon of Johan and Per.
Let them drive me as a grave bride along the country road of my childhood,
while weeping birches glitter and bird-cherry blossoms snow.

Here in the States I’ve earned my living as a laundress, sister Anny,
I have starched and pressed and ironed, I have drudged.
I’ve got money for the journey in a bank book, sister Anny –
all I could save after thirty years of toil.
So you must ask the doctor make me better, Sister Anny –
maybe I’l1 be home for Pentecost
maybe I can still live on a while.

Look the sunset builds a bridge across the Mjøsa, sister Anny!
Do you see the house up on the hill?
Take me home!
It is our house!
There they live - my parents, sisters, brothers and my grandma.
We are many; you see, sister.
There are six of us.
And for food we have salt and potatoes and lake fish,
oh sister Anny! Lake fish is so good!

Through the marsh below the hill the brooklet glimmers.
There will surely be an early spring this year
Look! The stone slab near the deep pool, sister!
It shows the soot and ashes from our washing clothes.
And ere the winter snow will melt behind the cow barn in the forest
the marsh will fill with sunflowers near our brooklet’s flow.
And when the snow is gone behind the cow barn in the forest, it's bridal white with anemones along our brooklets flow.

On the hill below the stone heap stands an old bird-cherry blooming.
On that hill I have my dollhouse by the snow-white cherry tree.
Below the hill the brooklet chuckles, in the birches birds are chattering,
Little Eli shouts and sings and puts her doll to sleep.
And at Pentecost the blossoms drift like snow about the roof.

When the church bells chime for Pentecost we play we're getting married
and the children trot in pairs around the cherry tree
maids and couples in a haze of star-shaped flowers--
Wilt thou marry little Ole, who is standing-here?
Ole, wilt thou marry Inga? Nicer bride you'll never have!
In the tree the birds are twittering: tweet tweet, tweet tweet, tweet tweet, you!
"Yes" and "amen" chants the pastor
and they all break into laughter:
"tweet, tweet, he, he, ha ha, you!"

Sister Anne, listen! They're shouting on the hill
hand in hand they form a ring to play and dance.
All the little girls want to be fairest
all of them want to be chosen for the bride
all make their wreaths and work hard for the chance.
Little Eli's humming though, so happy with her rag doll:
"Next summer I will surely be the bride
Next summer I"ll be seven like the others,
next summer I'll be seven, then I can be the bride."

It's forty summers since I was the wreathed child bride
with eyes like bluish anemones, under the cherry tree.
I was the prettiest girl among the children that year
you should have seen me, sister
- anemones in my hair -
it was soft and fine and curly
e’en shinier than yours.

Do you think I will recover, sister Anny?
I must go home to the old country to die.
Let them carry me out of the court-yard at home,
let them lift me gently to the wagon of Johan and Per.
Let them drive me as a grave bride along the country road there.
Oh sister, such country roads are not found here.

Along the highways, paths and carriage ways are ditches lush with flowers.
Globe-flowers and buttercups abound in the thicket there -
and on the mossy stone fence is the thorny wild rose blooming,
There are tansies there are raspberrys and wild currants too.
Oh dear sister! There are no such roads here!
There are chime of bells and bridal airs on my land's country roads...
Such are my land's country roads
- fairy tale country roads -
and they're winding through my mind,
and they are singing in my memory,
flowerwreathed, and with sunshine over childrens play and bridal joy.
Oh dear sister Anny! There are no such roads here!

In the bright nights of my country there is laughter, joy and play
Pairs dance stately across the meadow that is still as light as day.
There is dew and light and scent of flowers in my land's summer morning
and the flowers shine like snowdrifts on the mountain ash in spring time.

Oh! I feel I'm getting well again, Sister Anny!
Only help me to go home! At home it is spring!
I will live a long time yet, in the old country,
finding rest there, in my doll house on the hill.
Hurry sister! The boat is coming!
Goodbye! Give my love to Marte and to Liv!

Oh! just now I hear the roaring of the water fall.
Look! That smoke is coming from a chimney over on Vik!
It is darkening, sister Anny! Is it the forest?
Am I at home? Is it my own forest?

For in my country there are large forests, sister Anny!
Dark and deep are my forests, covering miles and miles.
Don't you cry now, sister Anny? It is dark, but I will help you.
Let me hold your hand. Rely on me!
I will lead you, I can find the way.
There is no a danger here in my forest.
I can scent it from the fragrance of Linnea.
A senseless joy ripples through my heart and soul.
I hear it from the twitter that now it will be morning.
I hear the trees are whispering.
This forest is my own.

"First edition hardly got to the bookshops", my publisher, William Nygaard, told me: "People come and buy it direct from us to get it quickly and send it to their relatives in America"
[From IRH: "De Unge", Autobiography vol 1]