Going Away

When they saw me, they began to move away, slowly, keeping a dignified pace, as if to say: you don't really worry us. And now in a couple of days we ourselves are going away, hopefully not worn out from closing up here and packing. We just checked the weather again. The forecast has changed and we might be driving the first two days in the rain. And the truck shell has a little leak. I guess I'll put the canvas suitcase inside a plastic bag.

It will be tough to leave the spectacular clouds here. There is supposed to be a thunderstorm tonight but it hasn't started yet. Today I packed the embroidery I brought and never did a single stitch on. It's pretty, what is done. I'm having to leave a lot of poetry books here, but I have some there, also. Of course I tend to like new friends (books) better. Unless you speak of Transtromer, who has been a favorite since 1980 or so. So tonight, one more poem from Tomas, translated from the Swedish by Robin Fulton.

Postludium

I drag like a grapnel over the world's floor--
everything catches that I don't need.
Tired indignation. Glowing resignation.
The executioners fetch stone. God writes in the sand.

Silent rooms.
The furniture stands in the moonlight, ready to fly.
I walk slowly into myself
through a forest of empty suits of armor.


Tomas Transtromer, from The Great Enigma; new collected poems, translated by Robin Fulton. New Directions, 2006, page 172.

Each line in this poem is strong enough to begin another poem. I am writing them in a notebook and will work on this as a project. Lines two and three are good for two poems apiece, one for each sentence. This is the first time I have wanted to do something like this and I just thought of it while typing this eight-line beauty.
Sleep well and dream of clouds over an autumn landscape. Good night!