Sunday, March 08, 2009


from March 1979

Tired of all who come with words, words but no language,
I went to the snow-covered island.
The wild does not have words.
The unwritten pages spread themselves out in all directions.
I come across the marks of roe-deer’s hooves in the snow.
Language but no words.

- Tomas Transtromer


Blogger workhard said...

Hi, just stopping on the way, nice poem.

Poetry directory

9:43 AM  

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