Tomas Tranströmer

POETRY: The Half-Finished Heaven by Tomas Tranströmer

July 8, 2016

Despondency breaks off its course. Anguish breaks off its course. The vulture breaks off its flight. The eager light streams out, even the ghosts take a draught. And our paintings see daylight, our red beasts of the ice-age studios. Everything begins to look around. We walk in the sun in hundreds. Each man is a half-open door leading to a room for everyone. The endless ground under us. The water is shining among the trees. The lake is a window into the earth. [...]

POETRY: On Our Own

March 19, 2014

Solitude (1) Tomas Tranströmer I was nearly killed here, one night in February. My car shivered, and slewed sideways on the ice, right across into the other lane. The slur of traffic came at me with their [...]

POETRY: Elegy, by Tomas Tranströmer

October 4, 2013

At the outset. Like a fallen dragon in some mist and vapor shrouded swamp, our spruce-clad coastland lies. Far out there: two steamers crying from a dream in the fog. This is the lower world. Motionless woods, motionless surface and the orchid’s hand that reaches from the soil. On the other side, beyond these straits but hanging in the same reflection: the Ship, like the cloud hanging weightless in its space. And the water round its prow is motionless, becalmed. And yet—a storm is up! and the steamer smoke blows level—the sun flickers there in its grip—and the gale is hard against the face of him who boards. To make one’s way up the port side of Death. A sudden draft, the curtain flutters. Silence ringing, an alarm clock. [...]