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JUHANI AHVENJÄRVI

CLAES ANDERSSON

EVA-STINA BYGGMÄSTAR

TOMAS MIKAEL BÄCK

AGNETA ENCKELL

MARTIN ENCKELL

TUA FORSSTRÖM

PENTTI HOLAPPA

JOUNI INKALA

RIINA KATAJAVUORI

JYRKI KIISKINEN

TOMI KONTIO

JUKKA KOSKELAINEN

LEEVI LEHTO

HEIDI LIEHU

RAKEL LIEHU

LAURI OTONKOSKI

MARKKU PAASONEN

ANNUKKA PEURA

MIRKKA REKOLA

HENRIKA RINGBOM

PENTTI SAARITSA

HELENA SINERVO

EIRA STENBERG

ANNI SUMARI

ILPO TIIHONEN

SIRKKA TURKKA

MERJA VIROLAINEN

KJELL WESTÖ (ANDERS HED)

TOMAS MIKAEL BÄCK (b. 1946) is a Finland-Swedish poet. In his first collection of poems, Andhämtning (Drawing Breath, 1972), it is already possible to notice his interest in Oriental philosophy and poetry, as he for instance makes use of the haiku form. In the 1980’s his way of writing turned more open, journal-like (Språngmarsch på stället, Running march in one place, 1985). In addition to short poems, prose poems and aphorisms, Bäck has written “nonsense poetry”. He has published 16 books, the latest of which Den sextonde månaden (2005).
THE MUSIC OF STARTLING LANGUAGE
 

My friend and colleague
lived at the address
Central Street 124, Karis.
I could never really
digest the address’s contradictory
message, or get over the sense
of market town melancholy: what sort
of centre exists only
as the departure time
of the train! 
To soften the pain
I felt I used to
buy expensive children’s books
in the local stationery shop.
The daughter was by then
just about the right age for cucumber dances.
The bookshop was owned by a friendly lady,
with exemplary swiftness she learned to
give encouraging discounts.
My friend and colleague is out of it,
(since dark whirlwinds
had destroyed the idyll)
somewhere else, far away.


A midsummer night's stock-exchange

Waded water-smell up to the neck

In times of deluge

Doesn't find the flora

I know which poems are being kil...

Became silent, in the hut

Scrapes rust-free

What would I have lacked

What I forgot

The Japanese beauties

Proverbs between the clouds

Bow your head towards

Beautifully ebbed-away days

Neither frame nor black

Why did so many buses go

Our story was doomed to end

Our last excursion à deux

My friend and colleague

Near the gates of the cemetery

Those last two years


 
From Memoarer och annan dikt(Memoirs and other poems), 1997. 
Translated by David McDuff.