Well, the Nobel committee didn't go for Adonis as their Nobel Prize Laureate, but they picked the next obscure poet. In their own backyard on top of that. I'm obviously disappointed that Haruki Murakami didn't win what was rightfully is (I think the Nobel is about the highest literary achievement), but who am I kidding? The last writer who was actually selling a lot of books when receiving the prize was probably Elfriede Jenilek in 2004, writer of the deliciously Freudian THE PIANO TEACHER. Murakami sells way too many novels to please the ultra-elitist people of the Nobel committee.
But enough with the bitching. Who's Tomas Tranströmer if not the most obscure winner since Herta Müller in 2009? He looks like a decent enough guy. He released thirteen poetry books in Swedish and ten of them have been translated in English (I don't know for other languages). He's been accused in the past by other Swedish artist to not be political but Tranströmer always stuck with doing what he liked and he got a Nobel prize for this. His most notable collections are named THE GREAT ENIGMA, WINDOWS AND STONES and THE HALF-FINISHED HEAVEN. Here are two of his poems I found over here, so you can make you own opinion of his work. Not my cup of tea, but it's all right. He's not a bad poet. It's a bit anticlimactic, but congratulations anyway, sir!
FURTHER IN
On the main road into the city
when the sun is low.
The traffic thickens, crawls.
It is a sluggish dragon glittering.
I am one of the dragon’s scales.
Suddenly the red sun is
right in the middle of the windscreen
streaming in.
I am transparent
and writing becomes visible
inside me
words in invisible ink
which appear
when the paper is held to the fire!
I know I must get far away
straight through the city and then
further until it is time to go out
and walk far in the forest.
Walk in the footprints of the badger.
It gets dark, difficult to see.
In there on the moss lie stones.
One of the stones is precious.
It can change everything
it can make the darkness shine.
It is a switch for the whole country.
Everything depends on it.
Look at it, touch it…
THE TREE AND THE SKY
There’s a tree walking around in the rain,
it rushes past us in the pouring grey.
It has an errand. It gathers life
out of the rain like a blackbird in an orchard.
When the rain stops so does the tree.
There it is, quiet on clear nights
waiting as we do for the moment
when the snowflakes blossom in space.