Saturday, February 22, 2014

Memories Look at Me

This is my grandson, talking to me on Face Time. That's me in the upper right corner, the way he sees me, with himself in the upper corner. Sometimes I get impatient with all this technology, but this was fun! So here, from the wrong season entirely, a Transtromer poem about memory.

Memories Look at Me

A June morning, too soon to wake,
too late to fall asleep again.

I must go out -- the greenery is dense
with memories, they follow me with their gaze.

They can't been seen, they merge completely with
the background, true chameleons.

They are so close that I can hear them breathe
although the birdsong here is deafening.

Tomas Transtromer 
in New Collected Poems; translated by Robin Fulton, Bloodaxe Books, 1997, page 135.

Why do I love the work of this poet so much? All the birds in his work don't hurt. But I think it is the surprising upwelling of wonderful metaphorical thought.

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