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The Great Enigma: New Collected Poems, by Tomas Transtromer
Download Ebook The Great Enigma: New Collected Poems, by Tomas Transtromer
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From Publishers Weekly
Starred Review. The major contemporary poet of Scandinavia, and a perennial Nobel Prize candidate (so rumor has it), Tranströmer and his compact, sometimes grim lyricism have long enjoyed a serious following in the United States. This version from the Scot Fulton (whose first Tranströmer selection appeared in 1987) contains everything Tranströmer has published in book form. Tranströmer's preferred land- and seascapes, drawn from the "spruce-clad coastland" of his native Sweden, have not changed much over his 50-year career: flat seas and frosty storms, swarming birds and contrapuntally beautiful summers, from which "society's dark hull drifts further and further away." His forms, however, have varied impressively: Sapphic stanzas, haiku, imagist lyric, prose sketches and several-page sequences all speak to one another. A clear competitor to Bly's well-received The Half-Finished Heaven (2001), this more comprehensive collection concludes with the rarely seen short poems of Tranströmer's recent years. Some will note political undercurrents ("The language marches in step with the executioners./ Therefore we must get a new language"), yet Tranströmer's dominant moods are almost warily inward-turning while given to hope: "I find myself in the deep corridor/ that would have been dark," the poet declares, "if my right hand wasn't shining like a torch." (Oct.) Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
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“The books of his poetry on my shelves never remain unopened for long. I turn to him when I wish to come as close as possible to what cannot be said. †- Teju Cole, The New Yorker“Tomas Tranströmer’s poetry permits us to be happily certain of our own uncertainties… Like the animals in Rilke’s first sonnet to Orpheus, they are alive to the god’s music. †- Seamus Heaney
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Product details
Paperback: 288 pages
Publisher: New Directions; Second Printing edition (October 17, 2006)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 9780811216722
ISBN-13: 978-0811216722
ASIN: 0811216721
Product Dimensions:
6.1 x 0.7 x 9 inches
Shipping Weight: 15.2 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
Average Customer Review:
4.3 out of 5 stars
26 customer reviews
Amazon Best Sellers Rank:
#72,595 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
How can you write about a poet without quoting? And if he has already achieved such extreme compression of ideas as 2011 Nobelist Tomas Tranströmer has, what can more words add? So I will try to use his own words as much as possible, starting with a complete poem, "Eagle Rock," from his last published collection (The Great Enigma, 2004):Behind the vivarium glassthe reptilesunmoving.A woman hangs up washingin the silence.Death is becalmed.In the depths of the groundmy soul glidessilent as a comet.How unexpected is that word "comet," a moving body of light in the heavens, challenging the below-ground dark of death! This from a man in his seventies, robbed of the power of speech by a stroke some dozen years before. The brief poems from this last period have not been published in English before this volume, which shows the poet's development from young adulthood to old age. The image of the comet returns again in the book's final section, a prose memoir from 1993 describing his childhood and adolescence, thus bringing the life-cycle full circle: "My life. Thinking these words, I see before me a streak of light... a comet." After talking about youth -- the bright dense head of the comet -- he goes on: "Further back, the comet thins out -- that's the longer part, the tail. It becomes more and more sparse, but also broader. I am now far out in the comet's tail, I am sixty as I write this." The image of racing time returns, as most of his images do, in another poem, "A Page of the Nightbook" (1996): "A period of time / a few minutes long / fifty-eight years wide." And again in the prose-poem "Answers to Letters" (1983): "Sometimes an abyss opens between Tuesday and Wednesday but twenty-six years could pass in a moment."In his memoir, Tranströmer tells of sitting in Latin class while the students read out verses of Horace one by one then attempted their own halting translations. "This alternation between the trivial and decrepit on the one hand and the buoyant and sublime on the other taught me a lot. It had to do with the conditions of poetry and of life. That through form something could be raised to another level. The caterpillar feet were gone, the wings unfolded." This says a lot for the poet's love of brevity, but it reminds us that the butterfly was once an earthbound caterpillar too. Tranströmer's poems may be surreal at times, but the secrets they hold are by no means arcane; they are as universal as they are personal. His butterfly is no exotic species: "I love that cabbage-white as though it were a fluttering corner of truth itself." (Streets in Shanghai, 1986). The process of translation, which was Tranströmer's first inspiration, poses a special challenge to his translators, but Scottish poet Robin Fulton has been working with him for thirty-five years; his versions have the immediacy of English originals.Fulton also contributes a most helpful introduction. He half-advises the reader to start at the end, so I did. I thumb back like snapshots in an album. A music-lover consoled by lugubrious Liszt who in his younger days had thrilled to Haydn. A traveler in the cities of many continents, who ends as he had begun, among the heaths, forests, and coastline of his native land. A successful lover walking down the street when "All the question marks began singing of God's being" (C Major, 1962). A young poet arriving on the literary scene like a commando: "Waking up is a parachute descent from dreams" -- the opening line of "Prelude" (1954), the first poem in the collection. But what strikes me most in this retrospective glance is the elegiac nature of so much of Tranströmer's poetry, as though half his life has been spent preparing to write that final full stop. There is the foreboding of his magnificent poem, "Alone" (1966), an account of a near-death experience on an icy road. The trains that cross his landscapes stop without reason, and only sometimes continue on. But nothing expresses it as beautifully or simply as the second of his two "Black Postcards" (1983), in which you almost hear the voice of Emily Dickinson:In the middle of life it happens that death comesto take man's measurements. The visitis forgotten and life goes on. But the suitis sewn on the quiet.Unlike many Nobel laureates, Tomas Tranströmer is not a political writer performing on the world stage. He is a private man, a rare one who shares his privacy, and eminently worth reading.
In the forward of this book of poetry written by Robin Fulton He gave us new readers of Transtromer much sage advice which I did not take heed. Mr. Fulton's advice to all new readers was to "read back from recent to early work" which he believed would be more helpful than reading forward. Being a traditional and stubborn reader I took no notice of his advice. Also in the forward Transtromer told Fulton that his earlier poems were very much abstract and complicated. As he grew older his poetry gained more traction and indeed more understanding. The very title of this book "the great enigma" brought this reader to his knees halfway through the readings. The title is amply named as the definition of enigma is a puzzling or inexplicable occurrence or situation. As I traversed the oeuvre of Transtromer's works I noticed that my enjoyment and understanding of his poetry became more enlightened as the years passed. Struggling as I was going through his works I noticed many reoccurring events. The author's favorite color is blue, his writing references death and the past and also he shows a great l love of the sea and the night sky containing the likes of moonlight. His writings also took us into the wilderness of the woods which he frequented numerous times. On my journey of frustration in finding meaning to the writings, I started to notice some concrete understandings, weak though it was. Such poems titled as Song, Elegy, Solitary Swedish Houses, Weather Picture, The Tree and the Sky, November with Nuances of Noble Fur and A Winter Night whetted my appetite for more of Transtromer's poetry. The keys to my epiphany to Transtromer's works and there meanings happened in the last words of prose coming straight from Thomas Transtromer himself. Titled "Memories Look At Me" was the key to his total works. This was the last segment of the book. Indeed Transtromer reveals the heart and soul of his being. In doing so, the author really de-enigmatises his works. I fear "Word" does not recognize de-enigmatise, oh well the program will have to deal with it. You as the reader will understand what I mean. Fulton was right; I should have read this book in reverse. My mindset in reading this book went from three stars all the way to five stars. This is why when doing a review you must always read to the end!!!
A review of a Nobel prize winner? Not my place, but I will make a few comments here that are simply opinion.First, I'd recommend reading the forward and his memories at the end of this collection before the rest. Helps to place him in geography , history, and his general reactions to specific points in his life. Overall this collection reveals a very personal sort of poet. By that I mean he seems to write from his own recollections and impressions just to express the experience in words. He doesn't seem to attempt any commentary about politics or such like.Second, all the technical stuff related to poetry like meter etc. is way beyond my knowledge level, but as a plain old reader I liked most of this collection. It tended to the somber with little splashes of color here and there---generally as spring return to the countryside. Have to wonder how much the climate affected his life and writing.Last. Would I return to his writing? Yes, that's one of the beauties of poetry. It can be fresh at each reading.
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