De sparkar fotboll
plötsligt förvirring – bollen
flög över muren.
Pojken dricker mjölk
och somnar trygg i sin cell,
en moder av sten.
De väsnas ofta
för att skrämma tiden in
i snabbare lunk.
När rymmaren greps
bar han fickorna fulla
med kantareller.
Verkstädernas dån
och vakttornens tunga steg
förbryllade skogen.
Felstavade liv –
skönheten kvarlever som
tatueringar.
Porten glider upp
vi står på anstaltsgården
i en ny årstid.
Murens lampor tänds –
nattflygaren ser en fläck
av overkligt ljus.
Natt – en långtradare
går förbi, internernas
drömmar i darrning.
Kraftledningarna
spända i köldens rike
norr om all musik.
Uit de verzameling: http://terebess.hu/english/haiku/transtromer.html
En de in het Engels vertaalde haiku/senryu:http://www.blackbird.vcu.edu/v10n1/poetry/crane_p/014pc_page.shtml , zoals deze:
The high-tension lines
taut in cold’s brittle kingdom
north of all music.
–
The white sun, training
alone, runs the long distance
to death’s blue mountains.
–
We need to exist
with the finely printed grass
and cellar-laughter.
–
The sun lies low now.
Our shadows are goliaths.
Soon shadow is all.
–
The orchid blossoms.
Oil tankers are gliding past.
And the moon is full.
–
Medieval fortress,
a foreign city, cold sphinx,
empty arenas.
–
Then the leaves whispered:
a wild boar plays the organ.
And the bells all rang.
–
And the night streams in
from east to west, traveling
in time with the moon.
–
A dragonfly pair
fastened to one another
went flickering past.
–
The presence of God.
In the tunnel of birdsong
a locked door opens.
–
Oak trees and the moon.
Light and mute constellations.
And the frigid sea.
——–
Zie ook: http://www.fanvanfryslan.nl/?s=transtr%C3%B6mer
Tomas Tranströmer
Haiku poems from
The Great Mystery
(2004)
The lamasery
with hanging gardens –
a battle-piece
Thoughts at a standstill:
mosaic-pieces
in the palace yard
Standing on the balcony
in a cage of sunbeams –
like a rainbow
Humming in the mist –
a fishing boat out there:
trophy on the waters
The wall of hopelessness –
arriving and departing,
faceless pigeons
A stag basks in the sun –
flies flit and sew the shadow
on the ground
Shaggy pines
in this tragic swamp –
for ever and ever
November sun –
my gigantic shadow drifts,
becomes blurry
Death bends over me –
I’m a chess problem, and he
has the solution
Afterglow –
looking at me, tugboats
with bulldog‘s faces
Rifts and troll-paths
on the ledges –
the dream, an iceberg
Climbing up a hill
in the full blaze of the sun –
goats devour fire
In the library of half-wits,
a sermon-book on the shelf
untouched
He writes on and on…
glue flowing in the canals;
the ferry across the Styx
Thick forest
the abode of the penniless god –
the walls shine
A black-and-white magpie
jumps stubbornly, zigzags
across the fields
Cringing shadows…
we’re lost in this wood
among clans of morels
See me sitting calmly
like a beached skiff –
I’m happy here
The rising grass…
his face, a rune-stone
raised in memory
At a certain hour
the blind wind will rest
against the façades
Blazing sun here –
a mast with black sails
from the days of old
The roof cracks open
and a dead man sees me –
this face…
Hear the sough of rain…
I whisper a secret
so that I can get in
A scene on the platform –
such a strange calm
the inner voice
The sea is a wall –
I hear gulls scream
they wave to us
The divine tail-wind:
a soundless shot coming –
the prolonged dream
Ash-coloured silence –
the blue giant goes by,
cold breeze from the sea
Strong and slow wind
from the seaside library –
I’ll rest here
Translated from the Swedish by Anatoly Kudryavitsky
