Sunday, January 10, 2010

Tomas Transtromer


NOVEMBER IN THE FORMER DDR
.
The almighty Cyclops's-eye clouded over
and the grass shook itself in the coal dust.
.
Beaten black and blue by the night's dreams
we board the train
that stops at every station
and lays eggs.
.
Almost silent.
The clang of the church bells' buckets
fetching water.
And someone's inexorable cough
scolding everything and everyone.
.
A stone idle moves his lips:
it's the city.
Ruled by iron-hard misunderstandings
among kiosk attendants butchers
metal-workers naval officers
iron-hard misunderstandings, academics!
.
How sore my eyes are!
They've been reading by the faint glimmer of the
glow-worm lamps.
.
November offers caramels of granite.
Unpredictable!
Like world history
laughing at the wrong place.
.
But we hear the clang
of the church bells' buckets fetching water
every Wednesday.
-is it Wednesday?-
so much for our Sundays!

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