Solitude 1 by Tomas Tranströmer

Right here I was nearly killed one night in February.

My car slewed on the ice, sideways,
into the other lane. The oncoming cars
their headlights came nearer.

My name, my daughters, my job
slipped free and fell behind silently,
farther and farther back, I was anonymous,
like a schoolboy in a lot surrounded by enemies.

The approaching traffic had powerful lights.
They shone on me while I turned and turned
the wheel in a transparent fear that moved like
eggwhite.
The seconds lengthened out making more room
they grew long as hospital buildings.

It felt as if you could just take it easy
and loaf a bit
before the smash came.

Then firm land appeared: a helping sandgrain
or a marvelous gust of wind. The car took hold
and fish-tailed back across the road.
A signpost shot up, snapped off a ringing sound
tossed into the dark.

Came all quiet. I sat there in my seatbelt
and watched someone tramp through the blowing snow
to see what had become of me.

Solitude 2 by Tomas Tranströmer

I have been walking a while
on the frozen Swedish fields
and I have seen no one.

In other parts of the world
people are born, live, and die
in a constant human crush.

To be visible all the time - to live
in a swarm of eyes -
surely that leaves its mark on the face.
Features overlaid with clay.

The low voices rise and fall
as they divide up
heaven, shadows, grains of sand.

I have to be by myself
Ten minutes every morning,
ten minutes every night,
- and nothing to be done!

We all line up to ask each other for help

Millions

One

a fragment of Europe! Europe! by Allen Ginsberg

World world world
I sit in my room
imagine the future
sunlight falls on Paris
I am alone there is no
one whose love is perfect
man has been mad man’s
love is not perfect I
have not wept enough
my breast will be heavy
till death the cities
are specters of cranks
of war the cities are
work & brick & iron &
smoke of the furnace of
selfhood makes tearless
eyes red in London but
no eye meets the sun