translation by Patty Crane
April and Silence
Spring lies forsaken.
The velvet-dark ditch
crawls by my side
without reflections.
The only thing that shines
are yellow flowers.
I am cradled in my shadow
like a fiddle
in its black case.
The only thing I want to say
glimmers out of reach
like the silver
at the pawnbroker’s.
Contributor’s notes: Tomas Tranströmer
Contributor’s notes: Patty Crane
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