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7 ottobre 2011

Solitary Swedish Houses di Tomas Transtromer


A confusion of black spruce
and smoking moonbeams.
Here’s the cottage lying low
and not a sign of life.

Till the morning dew murmurs
And an old man opens
-with a shaky hand-  his window
and lets out an owl.

Further off, the new building
stands steaming
With the laundry butterfly
fluttering a the corner

in the middle of dying wood
where the moldering reads
through spectacles of sap
the proceedings of the bark-drillers

Summer with flaxen –haired rain
Or one solitary thundercloud
Above a barking dog.
The seed is kicking inside the earth.

Agitated voices, faces
Fly in the telephone wires
On stunted rapid wings


Solitary Swedish Houses, Tomas Transtromer

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