Tranströmer

” Look, the moon.

 Isn’t it beautiful? I love the moon! Ouch.” Pomi grabbed the back of his neck.

” What happened?”

” I think a mosquito just bit me.”

” Oh really? I remember you saying mosquitoes never bother you.”

” I did’t say that.”

” Never mind Mr. Fiberfill, let’s close the window.”
” Ok, quickly, before another one gets me.” Pomi climbed down the window.

” Would you like me to read to you?” My little crochet doll inspected the books on my desk.

” Let’s see what there is.

Oh, how about Tranströmer, winner of the Noble Prize for literature in…?” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

” 2011.”

“Skulle du vilja att jag ska laesa till dig?”

” What?”

Pomi giggled. ” It’s Swedish and it means: would you like me to read to you? Or at least I think that’s what it means.”

” You don’t speak Swedish ! ”
Pomi did not answer. Instead he climbed on my laptop and started searching:

” I changed my mind. I am not going to read to you. You can listen to Tranströmer’s poems in Swedish. I know you love the sound of it.

I prefer the English translation because I want to understand what is being said. Or at least I can pretend I do.” Pomi grinned.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I listened to a couple of poems, enthralled by the rhythm and the sound of the words. When I turned around to Pomi again he was lying on the open the book, fast asleep.

I picked him up, carried him to his bed, and carefully put him down. 

” Good night my little darling.”