Oh goody, Mr T. in the house.

Uncharacteristically weak last line for Tranströmer. I bet it’s Fulton’s fault. Now, I know all your reservations about Bly, but I’ve read several translators of Tranströmer, and he’s the simplest and most consistent of them. Because this poetry is so declarative, and not at all shy about hitching the profound up to the mundane, the tone has to be rightly judged so that it isn’t bathetic.

Not that this is. Only that last line bugs me. The five that precede it are pure magic (even if “profoundness” sounds to my ear like nails on a chalkboard).

Time for my morning tea. Lots of milk, lots of sugar.