Tuesday Poem: Tomas Transtromer, Silence

Silence

Walk on by, they are buried . . .

A cloud shifts across the sun.

Starvation looms over us, a tall edifice

shifting in the night

in the bedroom, a dark pit opens -

that elevator drop in the stomach.

Flowers in the ditch, celebration and silence.

Walk on by, they are buried . . .

Silver cutlery swarms in shoals

where the Atlantic is deep and black.

Translation © Kathleen Jones

Tystnad

Gå förbi, de är begravda . . .

Ett moln glider över solskivan.

Svälten är en hög byggnad

som flyttar sig om natten 

i sovrummet öppnar sig en hisstrummas

mörka stav mot innandömena.

Blommor i diket. Fanfar och tystnad.

Gå förbi, de är begravda . . .

Bordssilvret överlever i stora stim

på stort djup där Atlanten är svart. 

© Tomas Transtromer 

Sorgegondolen

I love Transtromer's poetry, it's so stark and deceptively simple. In theory it should be easy to translate, but, word for word, the result often feels crude and facile. All kinds of questions present themselves - What is this poem really about? Hunger? Grief?  What is that terrible feeling in the pit of your stomach? And what is the significance of the cutlery - literally the 'table silver' - swimming in the depths of the Atlantic?  And then there's the word 'svart' - a lovely, harsh word with a long vowel to stretch the  mouth. It has much deeper, more sinister undertones than the simple 'dark', coming into English as 'swarthy'.