Transtromer and the philosopher’s stone

A poet winning the Nobel Prize of Literature is something that almost never happens. The last time it did was on 2011. That year, the Swedish poet Thomas Transtromer, who used to live very close from the Swedish Academy, obtained the award. I hardly ever read poetry. I guess I lack the guts and composure to immerse myself in a literary exercise that is far more challenging than novels and short stories. Or perhaps is just a matter of building a habit. Of course, many great novels and short stories are founded on poetry, but their structure and breath are different from poems.

Transtromer passed away on the 26^th of March of this year and the cultural sections or literary supplements of many newspapers around the world published profiles and comments about his work. Among them, I found a note in the New York Times that contained the poem “Further In”, which was published in 1973 in his book Paths. Its descriptive reflection is astonishing. In 27 lines, the poet synthesizes the essence of stories contained in fantasy books such as J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter saga or J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy. Dragons, fire, a forest, footprints and stones are included in a rhyme that flows from a daily scene (the traffic in a city at sunset) to a dream-like journey at the encounter of an object that transmutes reality. Here’s the poem:

On the main road into the city

when the sun is low.

The traffic thickens, crawls.

It is a sluggish dragon glittering.

I am one of the dragon’s scales.

Suddenly the red sun is

right in the middle of the windshield

streaming in.

I am transparent

and writing becomes visible

inside me

words in invisible ink

that appear

when the paper is held to the fire!

I know I must get far away

straight through the city and then

further until it is time to go out

and walk far into the forest.

Walk in the footprints of the badger.

It gets dark, difficult to see.

In there on the moss lie stones.

One of the stones is precious.

It can change everything

it can make the darkness shine.

It is a switch for the whole country.

Everything depends on it.

Look at it, touch it ...

A rather worn-out metaphor states that the work of a good poet brings light to the shadows where common men reside. For instance, the Academy said that Transtromer was awarded the prize because “through his condensed, translucent images, he gives us fresh access to reality.” I remember that a Mexican writer used to say that Pablo Neruda was the King Midas of Hispanic poetry. It seems great poets are the owners of a sort of philosopher’s stone, which can be either a blessing or a curse.