by Tomas Transtromer
2 A.M. moonlight. The train has stopped
out in a field. Far off sparks of light from a town,
flickering coldly on the horizon.
As when a man goes so deep into his dream
he will never remember he was there
when he returns again to his view.
Or when a person goes so deep into a sickness
that his days all become some flickering sparks, a swarm,
feeble and cold on the horizon.
The train is entirely motionless.
2 o'clock: strong moonlight, few stars.
Hmm. I'm going to be critical. Why? because I have a Masters' degree in Writing and two published books out, that's why.
"Cold" and "Horizon" is a lazy expression.
Enjambement is a tool to be used sparingly, not as a default.
I don't like his name.
Apologies.
Posted by: King Of the Hill | December 04, 2005 at 05:17 PM
I blame it on Robert Bly. He did the translation. And he's a lousy poet. I still like this poem though. There's something about its sparseness that I really enjoy.
Posted by: Oedipa | December 04, 2005 at 05:24 PM
Trains don't stop in fields either for that matter. They stop twenty five metres out of any station I want to get to as a rule. Then stay there for 45 minutes. With no explanation or apparent reason.
Posted by: King Of the Hill | December 04, 2005 at 05:28 PM
So? This is a poem! Many poems do weird things with images to evoke feelings or new perspectives. There's absolutely nothing new with this technique. Now if I showed you a language poem.... well, talk about leaving rules in the dust.
But if you still want to remain rooted in the world of logic, I've actually been on trains that inexplicably stopped in the middle of the journey for no apparent reason. One was a commuter train from San Jose to San Francisco. It did this several times. And the other was an Amtrack train that mysteriously paused for 15 minutes just outside of Klamath Falls, OR when I was travelling from San Francisco, CA to Eugene, Or. It was twilight and the train paused near a pond that turned blue from the fading light. It was beautiful. Then suddenly, we were moving again.
Who knows.....
But I have no problem with Transtromer doing this in his poem in order to evoke a pause in the mind of the reader and make us look at that city in the distance.
Posted by: Oedipa | December 04, 2005 at 05:36 PM
No, me neither. I was making a humourous observation about the vagaries of the British public transport network. It failed :-(
Posted by: King Of the Hill | December 05, 2005 at 04:19 PM
Ah! Chalk that one up to sheer exhaustion then! I've been running on close to empty for days.
Posted by: Oedipa | December 05, 2005 at 05:32 PM
A bit like the 8:40 London to Newcastle express then? Always stops outside Peterborough for no reason at all.
Posted by: King Of the Hill | December 06, 2005 at 08:59 AM
King of the hill,
your "criticism" only leads me to suppose that your masters degree was mail-order, and your books self published on one ply toilet paper.
Transtromer is a god among poets, and you really ought to know better if you are as qualified as you say you are.
Posted by: Mallard Vasey | July 08, 2009 at 09:12 AM