Poet of the Week: Tomas Tranströmer

Posted by Tom Roberge, on December 7, 2011

Due to popular demand, and as a concession to common sense, we've decided to put poems here on our website — one poet per week.

This week, in honor of his formally receiving his Nobel Prize in Literature, we're sharing a singularly beautiful poem by Tomas Transtrômer. I've said it before and will continue to do so for years to come, but it is an incredible honor to publish his work, and the day that the award was announced was both heartwarming and euphoric. 

James Laughlin orginally published Tranströmer's poetry back in New Directions in Prose & Poetry #19, from 1966. 

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The poem below can be found in The Great Enigma, the only English-language edition of his complete body of work. The collection was edited by Jeffrey Yang, whose favorite poem is one called "Molokai." He had this to say about it and about Transtrômer:

Each line is a seemingly simple declarative statement that presents a different perspective, or view. The first line a view from a cliff or hill above, looking down; the second line an imagined view from below looking back up; the third line turns back into the forest from where the speaker originally came from; the fourth a moment of stillness in the depths of the forest that shifts from image to a particular kind of silence; the fifth moves deeper into a forest that becomes a forest of individual memory; the sixth turns into the history of this place as shaped by a foreigner who once lived on the island, and cared for the sick and forgotten; the seventh makes a subtle comment about the mystery and beauty of faith and forgiveness. How the simplicity and rhythm of this little poem is able to evoke such emotional intensity I’ll leave for others to also dwell on. I will say that I have walked that same path and have returned to that sacred island and have seen those trees with long blue needles … and this poem has captured something remarkable and profound that, like all good poems, gets under your skin.

"Molokai"
by Tomas Tranströmer
translated by Robin Fulton

We stand at the edge and deep down under us glisten the roofs of the leper colony.
The climb down we could manage but we’d never make it back up the slopes before
     nightfall.
So we turn back through the forest, walk among trees with long blue needles.
It’s silent here, like the silence when the hawk nears.
These are woods that forgive everything but forget nothing.
Damien, for love, chose life and obscurity. He received death and fame.
But we see these events from the wrong side: a heap of stones instead of the sphinx’s
     face.

In conclusion, I'll once again cede the podium to Jeffrey, who adds: "Tranströmer’s poetic memoir, Memories Look at Me (just published this week), is also a kind of pure, alchemical distillation of memory. Its sentences seep into the brain slowly, each turn the unexpected awaits, as in the middle of the chapter about the poet’s grammar school days when we suddenly read, 'Many of the teachers were committed Nazis.'”

Congratulations again. Wish we could be there in Stockholm with you to join the toast.

Related Author: Tomas Tranströmer | Robin Fulton
Related Book: Memories Look at Me | The Great Enigma
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