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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) |
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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).
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 THE MUSIC OF STARTLING LANGUAGE |
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Near the gates of the cemetery
lay an old factory, a small workshop –
damn it if the comparatively tall
brick chimney wasn’t rectangular!
The whole place charred with an eternity of soot-black
and smoke vapours.
Some time in the fifties there was an attempt
at one last adaptation to the present:
half-heartedly cars began to be repaired.
Then it was all quickly over.
The place, which had helplessly floated above its mystical
past, in scarcely comprehensible presence,
faded away without trace, became one
with the groves of downy birch. Has never existed?
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  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
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