Literary News: Nobel Prize 2011

Friday Cocktail Time!

European Press Photo Agency NYT

I woke up this morning with mixed emotions - happiness that it is Friday, exhaustion from the week, and extreme pleasure at some good news I received in my email box. Unfortunately I am missing out, today, on what I know will be an excellent presentation on my campus because I am swamped (also, thanks to the geniuses who plan infrastructure changes, it now takes me nearly 2 hours to get to my campus before 9am). Nevertheless, I am taking a moment between my new caretaker duties (sewing holes in gym shirts and finally shopping for groceries) and my piles of work (20 papers to grade, proposal pages to turn in, workshops to plan) to provide an interesting and relevant cocktail tidbit.
Thursday this week a Swedish Poet Tomas Transtromer won the Noble Prize for Literature. The Prize is meant for any author who produces "outstanding work in an ideal direction." It has been awarded to some amazing authors since its inception in 1901. The last American to win the prize was Toni Morrison in 1993. I am not familiar with Transtromer's work, but I do know that he has plenty of fans world-wide. Mr. Transtromer unfortunately suffered a stroke which prevents him from speaking, but he can still write.
This news comes after an interesting observation I recently made regarding Rushdie's twitter feed (more to come on this dear readers). I noticed the other day that Rushdie tweeted a thank you for a Huffington Post article which offers and argument in favor of a Nobel Prize for his work. It is a fairly persuasive article, but I am also aware of a few authors who are considered "ahead" of Rushdie in this regard.
Anyway, I am copying below some translated works of Transtromer so you can see for yourself a sampling of his genius. If any of you know of other great translations, please pass them along. Happy Friday, and a hearty congratulations to Tomas Transtromer!

Haiku by Tomas Tranströmer I A lamasery with hanging gardens. Battle pictures. Thoughts stand unmoving like the mosaic tiles in the palace yard. Up along the slopes under the sun – the goats were grazing on fire. On the balcony standing in a cage of sunbeams – like a rainbow. Humming in the mist. There, a fishing-boat out far – trophy on the waters. II Cool shagginess of pines on the selfsame tragic fen. Always and always. Carried by darkness. I met an immense shadow in a pair of eyes. These milestones have set out on a journey. Hear the wood-dove’s voice. III Resting on a shelf in the library of fools the sermon-book, untouched. My happiness swelled and the frogs sang in the bogs of Pomerania. He’s writing, writing… The canals brimmed with glue. The barge across the Styx. Go quiet as rain, meet the whispering leaves. Hear the Kremlin bell. IV The ceiling rent open and the dead one sees me. This face. Something has happened. The moon lit up the room. God knew about it. Hear the sighing rain. I whisper a secret, to reach all the way in there. A scene on the platform. What a strange calm – the inner voice. V The sea is a wall. I hear the gulls crying – they’re waving to us. God’s wind at my back. The shot which comes without sound – a dream all-too-long. Ash-colored silence. The blue giant passes. Cool breeze from the sea. I have been there – and on a whitewashed wall the flies are gathering. Birdmen. The apple trees in blossom. The big enigma. Translated by Robert Archambeau and Lars-Håkan Svensson