Orts #738

 
We always feel younger than we are. I carry inside myself my earlier faces, as a tree contains its rings. The sum of them is me. The mirror sees only my latest face, while I know all my previous ones.
     — Tomas Tranströmer (1931-2015)
 
 
 
two poems by  Tomas Tranströmer:
 
         Romanesque Arches  *

 Tourists have crowded into the half-dark of the
          enormous Romanesque church.
Vault opening behind vault and no perspective.
A few candle flames flickered.
 
An angel whose face I couldn't see embraced me
and his whisper went all through my body:
Don't be ashamed to be a human being—be proud!
Inside you one vault after another opens endlessly.
You'll never be complete, and that's as it should be.
 
Tears blinded me
as we were herded out into the fiercely sunlit piazza,
together with Mr and Mrs Jones, Herr Tanaka and Signora Sabatini--
within each of them vault after vault opened endlessly.
 
 
         Romanesque Arches  **
 
Inside the huge Romanesque church the tourists jostled in the half darkness. 
Vault gaped behind vault, no complete view.
A few candle flames flickered. 
An angel with no face embraced me
and whispered through my whole body:
"Don't be ashamed of being human, be proud!
Inside you vault opens behind vault endlessly.
You will never be complete, that's how it's meant to be."
Blind with tears
I was pushed out on the sun-seething piazza
together with Mr and Mrs Jones, Mr Tanaka, and Signora Sabatini,
and inside them all vault opened behind vault endlessly. 

 
        From March 1979  ***
 
Sick of those who come with words, words but no language,
I make my way to the snow-covered island.
 
Wilderness has no words. The unwritten pages
stretch out in all directions.
 
I come across this line of der-slots in the snow: a language,
language without words.
 
 
 
*  translation (from Swedish) by Robert Bly
 
**  translation (from Swedish) by Robin Fulton
 
***  translation (from Swedish) by Robin Robertson