(Read in landscape mode to see the original formatting.)
The heavy curtains are clipped at the seams with a
pants hanger from the closet.
The lamp glimmers hot, bright before dimming to the dark.
The climbing shadows seek the embers of the blocked stars.
The passion has quieted down. In sleep, secret thoughts are
meeting, softly cuddling. The grays are flowing into
their brown tones, a gouache drying into translucent layers, a
still life hardening— a Hopper canvas almost emerging.
The city lights draw close. They expose almost every thing,
possibly even their most darkest of secrets.
Amidst the stern white faces,
the couple walks the dawning crowd, praying quietly.
Author’s note:
Here is the Tomas Transtormer poem being homaged, first in the translated and second in the original Swedish.
The Couple
They turn off the lamp and its white globe glimmers
for a moment before dissolving
like a tablet in a glass of darkness. Then is lifted.
The walls of the hotel soar up into the night sky.
Their acts of passion have quieted down and they sleep
but their most secret thoughts are meeting now
like when two colors join and flow into each other
on the wet paper of a schoolboy's painting.
It's dark and quiet. But the city has drawn closer
tonight. With windows dimmed. Houses have come.
They're clustered together, waiting nearby,
a crowd with blank expressions on their faces.
Paret
De släcker lampan och dess vita kupa skimrar
ett ögonblick innan den löses upp
som en tablett i ett glas mörker. Sedan lyftas.
Hotellets väggar skjuter upp i himmelsmörkret.
Kärlekens rörelser har mojnat och de sover
men deras hemligaste tankar möts
som när två färger möts och flyter in i varann
på det våta papperet i en skolpojksmålning.
Det är mörkt och tyst. Men staden har ryckt närmare
i natt. Med släckta fönster. Husen kom.
De står i hopträngd väntan mycket nära,
en folkmassa med uttryckslösa ansikten.
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