Book 28 - Tomas Transtromer "The Deleted World"

[jazzy_dave]

Tomas Transtromer "The Deleted World" (Enitharmon Press)





A lovely little glimpse of Tranströmer's oeuvre. I pretty much always approve of en face editions, and it's really interesting to see how Robertson shifts the grammar and line breaks (Swedish seems to have a lot of cognates with English, which I totally did not know and am overjoyed to discover). The introductory essay starts well and then collapses into an overblown paean of the worst type of criticism. The poems themselves are gorgeous, full of arresting images and deceptively simple diction.

Here are a couple of my favourites -

From March 1979 (p37)

Sick of those who come with words words but no language,
I make my way to the snow-covered island.

Wilderness has no words. The unwritten pages
stretch out in all directions.

I come across this line of deer-slots in the snow: a language,
language without words.

Black Postcards (p39)

I
The calendar is full but the future is blank.
The wires hum the folk-tune of some forgotten land.
Snow-fall on the lead-still sea. Shadows
scrabble on the pier.

II
In the middle of life, death comes
to take your measurements. The visit
is forgotten and life goes on. But the suit
is being sewn on the sly.

Not heard of him before but worth checking out more of his poems.

Comments

[cactus_rs]

(Swedish seems to have a lot of cognates with English, which I totally did not know and am overjoyed to discover)

Oh, yes. You'd be surprised how often I want to know a word in Swedish and it's basically the English word with a shift in emphasis or a weird change in pronunciation. Most times when I falter for a word and say the English one with a Swedish accent, people understand me and I'm grateful my mother tongue is English and not something more linguistically distant.

One branch of the Stockholm Library is adding a large section named after him? Devoted to his life and works? Something like that. I will have to take a look around sometime.

[beer-good-foamy.livejournal.com]

I don't read a lot of poetry, but Tranströmer always spoke to me. His poems are so very direct, and yet never simple - messy life filtered through the clarity of dreams.

One of my favourite poems:

Allegro (Tomas Tranströmer - transl. Robin Fulton)

I play Haydn after a black day
and feel a simple warmth in my hands.

The keys are willing. Soft hammers strike.
The resonance green, lively, and calm.

The music says freedom exists
and someone doesn't pay the emperor tax.

I push down my hands in my Haydnpockets
and imitate a person looking on the world calmly.

I hoist the Haydnflag––it signifies:
"We don't give in. But want peace."

The music is a glass-house on the slope
where the stones fly, the stones roll.

And the stones roll right through
but each pane stays whole.

Tranströmer worked as a psychologist in the penal system for a long time, one of my favourite shorts of his is this little haiku - I've never seen an "official" Enlish translation of it, so this is my attempt:

When they brought him back
The fugitive's pockets were
Full of wild mushrooms

[a-phoenixdragon.livejournal.com]

*HUGS*

[thespian15.livejournal.com]

Part II of the second one is really good.
Not ready for it, but really good. :p
Hugs, Jon