I am getting familiar with Tomas Transtromer. He appeals to the precious lonely mind of men. It takes time and stillness to read him. As he talks about unborn forests deep under street crossings.
He writes lines like
“We got ready and showed our home. The visitor thought: you live well. The slum must be inside you.” and
“The sound says that freedom exists.Â and someone pays no tax to Caesar.” and
“We do not surrender. But want peace.”Â and
“..like an old memory changing into you”
His portrait in Newyorker reads -Â To read TranstrÃ¶mer-the best times are at night, in silence, and alone-is to surrender to the far-fetched. It is to climb out of bed and listen to what the house is saying, and to how the wind outside responds.
Here is one of my favorites –
After a black day, I play Haydn,
and feel a little warmth in my hands.
The keys are ready. Kind hammers fall.
The sound is spirited, green, and full of silence.
The sound says that freedom exists
and someone pays no tax to Caesar.
I shove my hands in my haydnpockets
and act like a man who is calm about it all.
I raise my haydnflag. The signal is:
“We do not surrender. But want peace.”Â
The music is a house of glass standing on a slope;
rocks are flying, rocks are rolling.
The rocks roll straight through the house
but every pane of glass is still whole.
read ten of his poems here.