Tomas Tranströmer Poems
|3.||From the Island, 1860||5/21/2016|
|5.||The Half-Finished Heaven||5/21/2016|
|9.||From the Snowmelt of '66||5/21/2016|
|11.||The Blue House||10/8/2015|
|13.||November In The Former Ddr||10/7/2011|
|16.||The Indoors Is Endless||10/7/2011|
|17.||After A Death||10/7/2011|
After A Death
Once there was a shock
that left behind a long, shimmering comet tail.
It keeps us inside. It makes the TV pictures snowy.
It settles in cold drops on the telephone wires.
One can still go slowly on skis in the winter sun
through brush where a few leaves hang on.
They resemble pages torn from old telephone directories.
Names swallowed by the cold.
It is still beautiful to hear the heart beat
but often the shadow seems more real than the body.
The samurai looks insignificant
beside his armor of black dragon scales.
translated by Robert Bly
They switch off the light and its white shade
glimmers for a moment before dissolving
like a tablet in a glass of darkness. Then up.
The hotel walls rise into the black sky.
The movements of love have settled, and they sleep