My search for a poem for this week was very short; as soon as I happened upon “After a Death,” by Swedish poet Tomas Transtromer, I knew I was hooked. The poem is short (and translated into English, by Robert Bly), but its images are so poignant that it seems perfectly self-contained:

Once there was a shock

that left behind a long, shimmering comet tail.

It keeps us inside. It makes the TV pictures snowy.

It settles in cold drops on the telephone wires.

One can still go slowly on skis in the winter sun

through brush where a few leaves hang on.

They resemble pages torn from old television directories.

Names swallowed by the cold.

It is still beautiful to hear the heart beat

but often the shadow seems more real than the body.

The samurai looks insignificant

beside his armor of black dragon scales.

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