← v10n1, Spring 2011
Poetry · Volume 10, Number 1

Night Travel, Tomas Tranströmer | translation by Patty Crane

It’s teeming under us. Trains depart.

Hotel Astoria trembles.

A glass of water by the bedside

shines into the tunnels.

He dreamed he was imprisoned on Svalbard.

The planet rumbled as it turned.

Glittering eyes passed over the ice.

The miracles’ beauty existed.