Friday, August 23, 2013

Disappearing Day Over Pickerel Lake; "Our shadows are giants."

I loved this visit to the lakeside with my grandchildren. As the sun went down they were finishing their picnic and I was watching the light on the lake.

Here are a few of the haiku written by Tomas Transtromer, They are not like any other haiku I know. But I seem to want to dwell in their presence. These are a few from his book, The Sad Gondola, in the translations by Robin Fulton that appear in The Great Enigma on page 209.


The power lines stretched
across the kingdom of frost
north of all music.
The white sun's a long-
distance runner againsst
the blue mountain of death.
We have to live with
small-print grasses and
laughter from the cellar.
The sun is low now.
Our shadows are giants.
Soon all will be shadow.

Watching the light as the day progresses, and watching the track of the moon, or the brilliant stars, have been of the greatest pleasure to me this summer. Unlike other places I have lived, this house encourages that. Tonight the moon is high. Good Night!

No comments:

Post a Comment