Lament by Tomas Tranströmer

    I have finally reached acceptance. That the old ways are not working. That the old heartaches must be left behind. It is January in the new year and here we are. I am finally done pining after someone for so long, that it is a relief. I don't look with fear anymore of the secrets I will find. I let the secrets settle now, keep them to myself.

    Here below is a poet I immediately felt drawn to. I haven't yet finished reading the book, but felt I must copy it out. So here it is.

Lament

by Tomas Tranströmer

He laid aside his pen.

It rests still on the table.

It rests still in the empty room.

He laid aside his pen.

Too much that can neither be written nor kept silent!

He is paralyzed by something happening far away

although the wonderful traveling bag throbs like a heart.

Outside it is early summer.

Whistlings from the greenery--men or birds?

And cherry trees in bloom embrace the trucks that have come home.

Weeks go by.

Night comes slowly.

The moths settle on the windowpane:

small pale telegrams from the world.

*from The Great Enigma: New Collected Poems, translated by Robert Fulton.