I like this very much. I saw it and some time/days later saw this by Transtromer and remembered your picture:
FROM THE THAW OF 1966
Headlong headlong waters; roaring; old hypnosis.
The river swamps the car-cemetery, glitters
behind the masks.
I hold tight to the bridge railing.
The bridge: a bird iron bird sailing past death.
I like the Transtromer poem, how straightforward it is until it turns in the last line toward mystery.
Yes I think it’s the hiddenness
what’s hidden the poem/poetry’s
finally “toward” or after, as in
expressionism, where some exploded
detail of murky reality starts
to melt away a little
but can’t quite reveal
what isn’t visible anyway
That image looks a lot like when I was in NYC last week among the concrete canyons. I looked up and saw a slice of the sky.
I see it (after the fact) as a vortex or whirlpool.
Sorry,just noticed, the last line of the Transtromer poem above ahould read: “The bridge: a big iron bird sailing past death” not “bird iron bird” as I typed it.
BIRD IRON BIRD
Shall I set as background
to my life an actual size
abstraction rather than
how the whirlpool sliced
and bridged me how I held on
to that bird of death
after all you were with me.
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