Our beloved poet Tomas Transtromer–from whose work we took our name– has gone on to “the real party,” as he once called it.
for insisting on mystery, magic, beauty, stillness, and majesty, while modernity and sterility raged all around us.
You always reached across, with your quiet but warm modesty, and wild imagination.
In your crystalline poems one could see to the bottom of the lake.
You invoked mystery but never used foggy prose to keep us at a distance.
Your clarity felt so very much like love when it was hard to find, hard to trust.
That I got to meet you in “the blue house” is something I will cherish as long as I live.
You looked down on nobody, and signed my book with your only partly functioning hand, in such a tender scrawl, I’ve never been able to look at it without feeling vulnerable.
Thank you for laying down your body as an instrument of transmission–these vital messages–while “truth” was under siege as never before.
“Read between the lines. We’ll meet in 200 years,
when the microphones in the hotel walls are forgotten
and can at last sleep, become trilobites.”