the wild does not have words...
Tomas Tranströmer, a Swedish poet, is focused, as realized in the bulk of his work, not on the object … person, voice, musical note … but on the space or silence that surrounds that object. That perspective appeals to my deepest self. Darkness outlines light. Silence defines voice. Stillness intensifies motion. The blank page is the sea, and words, a scattering of boats.
I’m haunted by the unsayable. Apparently, Tranströmer is as well.
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Tomas Tranströmer
From March ‘79
Being tired of people who come with words, but no speech,
I made my way to the snow-covered island.
The wild does not have words.
The pages free of handwriting stretched out on all sides!
I came upon the tracks of reindeer in the snow.
Speech but no words.
(Trans. Robert Bly)
4 comments:
I wish the poem was less telling.
I feel like the whole thing could be so much more haiku, and therefore, more resonant for me if reduced to these lines:
I made my way to a snow-covered island./ The wild does not have words./ I came upon the tracks of reindeer in snow.
Maybe that's why I love the wilderness so much. It may be filled with voices (wind, wild goose, coyote) but no words.
This poem reminds me of my childhood in New Hampshire. Wandering out on a snowy morning and finding the yard and forest marked with the tracks, the night comings and goings of animals and birds.
I think the unsayable, or sometimes, the unsaid is what draws me to Gluck's work. There's so much silence in her poems.
This post of yours reminds me of one of the lessons from art school that I had a difficult time grasping, the concept of and useage of negative space.
Thanks for this post, sir. Good lord, you've set the wheels spinning. (grin)
Gluck is a marvelous writer. I agree. Thanks for the read.
i quite like tranströmer's work - the first poem i read was "schubertiana". i still need to read more of his poetry though. so much poetry, and so little time! ;)
thanks for yet another interesting, beautiful post.
I adore Tranströmer, and have been looking for Bly's translation of Schubertiana, but can't find this poem online. I don't particularly want to buy a book, since I read Tranströmer in the original Swedish.
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