Tuesday, May 30
link


Alcaic
This forest in May. It haunts my whole life:
the invisible moving van. Singing birds.
              In silent pools, mosquito larvae's
furiously dancing question marks.

I escape to the same places and same words.
Cold breeze from the sea, the ice-dragon's licking
              the back of my neck while the sun glares.
The moving van is burning with cool flames.
 - Tomas Tranströmer
translated by Patty Crane
Bright Scythe









  • ". . . as I have said often enough, I write for myself in multiplicate,
    a not unfamiliar phenomenon on the horizon of shimmering deserts."
    - Vladimir Nabokov