Many of you know I work at a volunteer-run used bookstore and there are times when I help with donations that I find an older book has just arrived in a box, an older book of poetry! This is one of those times. I have enjoyed Robert Bly's writing for a long time, but have not seen this before. Perhaps many of you know it? Through the years, he has been translating other poets' poems, and this time, he's gathered the translations into one book. Even the title brings excitement for what's inside, doesn't it?
To Bly, translating is another joy. He writes: "Translating allows one to go deeply into the adventures taking place inside another person's poem; translating with friends is one of the greatest pleasures of the world." This introduction continues to share how his translation emanates, with whom he works and why it's a great thing.
The poem I chose is from Tomas Tranströmer, "who comes from a long line of ship pilots who worked in and around the Stockholm Archipelago. He is at home on islands." You can read more about him, including other poems and his friendship with Bly, here.
Morning Bird Songs
I wake up my car;
pollen covers the windshield.
I put my dark glasses on.
The bird songs all turn dark.
pollen covers the windshield.
I put my dark glasses on.
The bird songs all turn dark.
Meanwhile someone is buying a paper
at the railroad station
not far from a big freight car
reddened all over with rust.
It shimmers in the sun.
at the railroad station
not far from a big freight car
reddened all over with rust.
It shimmers in the sun.
The whole universe is full.
The rest is found here.
I am wondering if you feel some kinship with Tomas Tranströmer after reading this?