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!