My late blog-friend, Joann, had her blog fixed to play music while you read it. It was never music I particularly wanted to hear, mostly classic pop, but still it was fun. I would like to have a piece of classical music that went with this photo. Maybe "The Swan of Tuonela," by Sibelius. I still have the 10-inch long-play record the parting gift of my first real boyfriend, distant cousin Gale Holladay.
But here instead is a poem by that master poet, Tomas Transtromer. He plays the piano, and because of a cerebral accident lost the power to speak. So at the Nobel Awards, he played the piano with the hand that was left to him--instead of making the usual speech. I find this very moving and brave. He has been one of my very favorite poets for more than twenty years, since Robert Hass introduced him to us in our class.
AS WHEN YOU WERE A CHILD
As when you were achild and some tremendous hurt
was pulled over your head like a sack---
glints of sunlight through the mesh
and the hum of the cherry trees.
But it doesn't help, the great hurt
covers head and torso and knees
and though you are able to move sometimes
spring brings no happiness.
Yes, shimmering wool cap, pull it down over your face
stare through the mesh.
Out on the bay, the rings of water multiply soundlessly.
Green leaves darken the earth.
poem by Tomas Transtromer
from For the Living and the Dead, page 49.
Late last night I was reading a Kindled book: How Faulkner became Faulkner.
I read the part about the emotional dynamics of his family. And again, the early
childhood traumas came up. (And the issue of twinship, in a novel, not in his life.)
More on this later. It is amazing how I am finding this in so many places recently.
I'll try to expand on this tomorrow. Good Night.