For Tomas Transtromer.
You take the poem's last line and lock it center heart.
It's your center of gravity.
Center of gravity in a church swinging among tolling bells.
Dancing with headless angels, you kept your balance.
Your grand pianos on cliff tops, the audience
grabbing it and holding tight, a crash of thunder strikes,
a flight of keys.
You wonder how that night train caught up
with tomorrow's darkness.
Leaving your blue train station house,
you brave rain to check mushrooms, sun and moon,
forest signal lights.
Behind the seven-year-old rainbow,
a capacity crowds wearing automobiles as masks.
I had a few words about this poem.
Tomas Transtromer is my close friend who is a Swedish poet.
December of 1990, he got struck.
When I heard this news, I wrote this poem dedicated to him.
至 T Transtromer
你把一首诗的最后一句锁在心里 那是你的重心
随钟声摆动的教堂的重心
和无头的天使跳舞时 你保持住了平衡
你的大钢琴立在悬崖上
听众们紧紧抓住它 惊雷轰鸣琴键疾飞
你回味着夜的列车怎样追上了未来的黑暗
从蓝房子的车站出发 你冒雨去查看蘑菇
日以月森林里的信号灯
七岁的彩虹后面挤满带着汽车面具的人