Robin Robertson

Flayed Alive by the Bacchae

They would have torn us to pieces, those Bacchae.
 Instead, they turned—bare-handed—
 on our herd of grazing cattle.
 A single woman pulled a mewling calf in two,
 while others clawed apart a full-grown heifer.
 There were spread ribs and broken hooves flung everywhere,
 and pieces of flesh hung
 dripping from the trees.

Keys to the Doors

The Dead Sound

Fire Graffiti

The Double World of Tomas Tranströmer

To Friends Behind a Border

Solitude (I)

The Double World of Tomas Tranströmer

The landscape of Tranströmer’s poetry has remained constant during his fifty-five-year career: the jagged coastland of his native Sweden, with its dark spruce and pine forests, sudden light and sudden storm, restless seas and endless winters, is mirrored by his direct, plain-speaking style and arresting, unforgettable images. Sometimes referred to as a “buzzard poet,” Tranströmer seems to hang over this landscape with a gimlet eye that sees the world with an almost mystical precision.

An Ambush

Tinsel

Through the Tweed

Hammersmith Winter

A Simple Gift

Diving

My Girls

The Custom-House

Trumpeter Swan

Strindberg in London

At Dawn

Ghost of a Garden