Tomas Gosta Transtromer (born April 15, 1931 – March 26, 2015) was a Swedish poet, psychologist and translator.
His poems capture the long Swedish winters, the rhythm of the seasons and the palpable, atmospheric beauty of nature. Tranströmer’s work is also characterized by a sense of mystery and wonder underlying the routine of everyday life, a quality which often gives his poems a religious dimension. Indeed, he has been described as a Christian poet.
Tranströmer is acclaimed as one of the most important Scandinavian writers since the Second World War. Critics have praised his poetry for its accessibility, even in translation. His poetry has been translated into over 60 languages. He is the recipient of the 1990 Neustadt International Prize for Literature and the 2011 Nobel Prize in Literature.
AFTER A DEATH
Tomas Transtromer
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.
=======
THE COUPLE
Tomas Transtromer
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
but their most secret thoughts meet as when
two colors meet and flow into each other
on the wet paper of a schoolboy’s painting.
It is dark and silent. But the town has pulled closer
tonight. With quenched windows. The houses have approached.
They stand close up in a throng, waiting,
a crowd whose faces have no expressions.
===
NOCTURNE
Tomas Transtromer
I drive through a village at night, the houses step out
into the headlights–they are awake now, they want a drink.
Houses, barns, nameposts, deserted trailers–now
they take on life. Human beings sleep:
some can sleep peacefully, others have tense faces
as though in hard training for eternity.
They don’t dare to let go even in deep sleep.
They wait like lowered gates while the mystery rolls past.
Outside town the road sweeps on a long time through the forest.
Trees, trees silent in a pact with each other.
They have a melodramatic color, as if in firelight.
How clear every leaf is! They follow me all the way home.
I lie about to fall asleep. I see unknown images
and signs sketching themselves behind the eyelids
on the wall of the dark. In the slot between waking and sleep
a large letter tries to get in without succeeding.