(translated by Robin Fulton)
I open the first door.
It's a large sunlit room.
A heavy car goes past in the street
and makes the porcelain tremble.
I open door number two.
Friends! You drank the darkness
and became visible.
Door number three. A narrow hotel-room.
Outlook on a back street.
A lamp sparking on the asphalt.
Beautiful slag of experiences.
From Tomas Transtromer, New Collected Poems, trans. Robin Fulton. Bloodaxe Books, 2011. Reproduced with kind permission of the publisher.
|(Girts Gailans, courtesy Red Edge Images)|