Today comes another segment of The One from “City Secundus.” But wait a few moments while I quickly introduce a poem I just had to share before February is over. Tomas Transtromer (1931- 2015) was Swedish and his poem below is about February. As we can all imagine the Swedes are among those who live and even thrive in winter. Not unlike Minnesotans. You may want to compare Mr. Transtromer’s descriptions with our own Minnesota winters.
This poet began writing verse while still in high school and published his first book at twenty-three years old. For many years, he divided his time between writing, translating, and serving as a psychologist for juvenile offenders. In 1990, a stroke left him unable to speak; however, he continued to write and publish poetry. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in 2011.
Face to Face
In February living stood still.
The birds flew unwillingly and the soul
chafed against the landscape as a boat
chafes against the pier it lies moored to.
The trees stood with their backs turned to me.
The deep snow was measured with dead straws.
The footprints grew old out on the crust.
Under a tarpaulin language pined.
One day something came to the window.
Work was dropped. I looked up.
The colors flared. Everything turned around.
The earth and I sprang toward each other.
Translated by Robin Fulton
And here we are at the third segment of Song 10, “City Secundus.” As we begin this segment, it appears the MC is developing a sense of humor about the situations that flow by. This does not last very long, as the multitude of stimuli rain down on the MC’s senses. Argose appears to have integrated with the narrative and with the MC’s path. Imagine yourself in an unfamiliar city; follow the MC and decide which actions seem appropriate in the various situations, and which are just plain foolish. Bon voyage!
My sea legs, as before, prove quite wobbly
Argose nearly falls over on his side
We have been enough days on the water
to alter balance and body rhythms
I chuckle thinking if Hart saw me now
he would again denounce me for a drunk
but we both manage to right ourselves soon
enough and begin our journey along the shore
continuing to survey the vessels
taking stock of who’s aboard and their tasks
I try to appear I know the harbor
Argose plods along like he knows the way
in truth he trusts that I won’t go astray
He does not care where we are going
Each step taken is all the same to him
unlike me, trying to steady my limbs
Soon, along the rocky coast, steps appear
We climb up and at the top, streets and shops
line the way and people do what people do
I notice I’m hungry and start looking
for a mariner’s tavern along the street
where I can quietly drink in some dim corner
listen and gather pieces of this puzzle
Argose may not be welcome in some places,
but where I go, so does he, mighty beastie
Although I must tread carefully, I walk
steadily with purpose and intention
In this way, I garner little notice
looking straight ahead, meeting no one’s eyes
A short way in, many narrow streets branch
off in myriad directions – warehouse
after warehouse with no space between them
Storefronts and taverns crowd the inner streets
The farther in I go the more people
pack the streets, but I am no one to them
and so, I am invisible to all
Now I notice I can’t see them either
They are too many and they move too fast
blurring into a huge whirling gray fog
as I walk with this trusting, loyal dog
I force my focus to slow and narrow
to just one sight – one person – one clear voice
It is difficult to do – I slip back
swimming, cresting clouded speech and movement
pretending I’m part of what I am not
To learn, I must attend much more closely
I narrow my hearing and field of sight
Six burly bearded men in drab green clothes
One raises his shirt in bellied salute
Four gray pigeons flap up to a spire loft
One black cat blinks looking up from the dust
Three blue-clad children scamper out of sight
One light shaft crowns a broken rocking horse
Two raggy-winged ravens cartwheel in flight
Grapevines and nightshade strangle a wooden fence
Scatters and scraps! Broken bits with no thread!
Too many voices! Pace and haste too fast!
These are not puzzle pieces -- just shattered
specks without connection – with their secrets
Only one thing is clear. I have arrived
I carve a path like a churning river
flowing North to South through nine great gates
for so they are marked on a map-carved wall
The map says I stand at the Second Gate
near the City’s southern end. Six are North
of where I stand but I saw none of these
as I rowed into harbor. Why is that?
I study the map more closely and see
the river has three arms and I rowed in
on the central one while two sister streams
paralleled the central, ungated one
The eastern sister river arm is choked
harnessed by three old City gates
made to spill water out in service to
the City’s people who see her essence
even less than they see who I might be
The western river, beyond the central
diverts the waters circular then back
together forming three lower islands
I study the map as light steadily dims
and pelting, leaden raindrops spatter down
People run for shelter. How comical!
After so long on the open river
the rain feels as natural as the wind
Warm rivulets run tickling fingers down
my neck and soak my shirt against my chest
Gray clouds puff along in the gusting wind
and pour down steamy, slanting sheets of rain
Men and women stand in doorways, arches
like stranded blinking sea creatures startled
at being washed out of their crevices
Argose doesn’t notice and stands dripping
Rain blusters past as quickly as it came.
I’m leaning against a stone wall watching
gray-wet people begin to make passage
heads bobbing like ducks, necks craning to see
if the sky still threatens to break open
Their scuttling frenzy starts hidden engines
that fuel the City’s grand pounding pistons
like some great bellows pumped by gigantic hands.
Feet scrape, scratch and skitter like sideways crabs
As they reach me, they diverge around me.
I am no more to them than a puddle
They hurry leaning forward into wind
their chins to their chests, streaming in and out
of gray buildings, pulled like puppets on thin
hidden wires and tethers, mindless and dull
I watch them flopping past – gray gasping fish
pulled toward boats where they will be tied to masts
with sharp-edged twine and compelled to listen
to hollow songs, songs of deep derangement
I wonder where so many people can
be going in so many directions?
Their scurry makes me laugh which garners me
more than a few curious sidelong glances
I shiver now but I am not that cold.
The sounds of these gray ones make me tremble
clicks, puffs of stale air as they pass, scratching
tiny stones underfoot – wave after wave
of gray bodies rising up from thin steam –
then disappearing as if never there.
Their speech tumbles in a revolving sphere
A thousand familiar words and phrases
caught and heard but I can make no meaning
from the disjointed chords and sharp fragments
The sounding motion tires me, makes me dizzy
My belly croaks and rumbles wanting food
beyond the poor stores back on the red boat
I have the money to buy food somewhere
That would be a pleasure – to have someone
serve me rather than pulling dinner raw
from the river and the damp storage box.
But weariness wins out and I seek out
a corner away from the stony streets
set deeply back in an alley safe from
the gray scuttlers and their constant chatter
Argose lays down beside me and I dream . . .
Background
Like any traveler/explorer, this segment finds our wandering hero in yet another new situation, although the first large town has prepared the way for this second experience. People who travel frequently develop routines, perhaps to make being in new places easier to navigate. Our MC has enough journeying accomplished that such routines are starting to take shape. I take some of this from my own travel experiences which were wide and varied for almost 30 years of life working in corporations, across several continents, and myriad cities, large and small. I did develop routines that were helpful in making best use of my time, everything from how to locate a decent place to eat (usually the hotel restaurant for convenience) to finding the nearest drug and grocery stores for emergency needs. Much else goes into a traveling routine, but that gives you the idea.
Exploration 1: When you visit a city that you have not been to before, what characteristics do you have in common with the MC?
Exploration 2: What do you make of the waterways and gates of this city? Can you picture their layout? If confusion arises, consider the bewilderment the MC must be feeling.
Exploration 3: Follow Argose through the story line. Is he more or less at ease in this city than the MC? What function is Argose beginning to play with the protagonist.
Exploration 4: What do you make of the “gray scuttlers,” the city’s residents? When you have been in a city (or if you live in one), do the descriptions of these residents ring true, are they exaggerated, or somewhere else on the spectrum?
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