The Half-Finished Heaven, by Tomas Tranströmer

The swirl of seawater froth produced by the engine of a ferry reversing from a jetty on the Swedish archipelago, the flat forested islands dotting the horizon in the distance.

The Half-Finished Heaven

Despondency breaks off its course.
Anguish breaks off its course.
The vulture breaks off its flight.

The eager light streams out,
even the ghosts take a draught.

And our paintings see daylight,
our red beasts of the ice-age studios.

Everything begins to look around.
We walk in the sun in hundreds.

Each man is a half-open door
leading to a room for everyone.

The endless ground under us.

The water is shining among the trees.

The lake is a window into the earth.

Tomas Tranströmer, New Collected Poems, translated by Robin Fulton (Bloodaxe Books, 1997/2011)

I heard this extraordinary poem being read by Kenneth Branagh earlier this year, in the final episode of the latest series of Wallander on BBC1.  It was a particularly sobering episode, which depicted the eponymous detective coming to terms with an early diagnosis of dementia while he conducts an investigation for murder into a member of his extended family. The scene which especially stands out in my memory is of a suddenly furious Branagh raging and tearing at his clothes in a field, while his daughter, whom he no longer recognises, tries to comfort him. Later, his rage having dissipated, she asks him why he was not able to tell her what he had long suspected about his decline: ‘Because you’re my daughter,’ he says. If I see anything more moving or more devastating on television this year I will be lucky.

I am not giving too much away when I say the episode does not end well for Wallander’s quarry. Because he knew him personally he is invited to speak at the man’s funeral. As Branagh begins his eulogy, the viewer is shown a small circle of mourners standing by the graveside from a vertiginous camera angle. What we hear is the poem above.

I had read the poem before, but suddenly it felt fresh to me. From the way it begins with those emphatic abstract nouns that I was always warned to be wary of (‘Despondency’, ‘anguish’), to the way it shifts between different settings, of nature (‘The vulture breaks off its flight’), art (‘And our paintings see daylight,/ our red beasts of the ice-age studios’), and even the language of creation-myth (‘Everything begins to look around./ We walk in the sun in hundreds’), the poem is captivating because it does not attempt to diminish the presence of the ‘ghosts’ at its centre. The lines ‘Each man is a half-open door/ leading to a room for everyone’ remind me of the crowds pressing in on the speaker of another of Tranströmer’s poems, ‘Alone’, where ‘everyone is queuing at everyone’s door.’ It seemed bereft of any sense of comfort. Yet it seemed to match its moment perfectly. I wondered to myself if, sometimes, that is the best kind of acceptance we can wish for, one that names the ‘anguish’ we feel, and which returns us to the only place we can be certain of, the ‘endless ground under us’, whether we like it or not.


  1. Yes, I saw the programme too, and felt similarly. “The vulture breaks off its flight” sounds reassuring till you think about it. Presumably it has seen something dead on the ground. The half-open door leads underground. And yet it isn’t depressing, just accurate. The sun, and the water, go on shining. The art goes on bearing witness.


    1. I return to this episode and it’s prologue-epilogue poem not out of sentimentality or morbidity but to embrace loss especially as interpreted by great artists, as a natural tragic existential state. It is a hauntingly beautiful poem Mr. Wilson, but only truly comes alive when recited. Most poetry is flat for me when read from a book, it needs recitation to fully hold it’s breath and drive it’s drama. I assume the poet always recites aloud as part of the creative editing process—to have Sir Kenneth recite it, well…any poet would…

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Thank you for stopping by and leaving a comment, David. I couldn’t agree more. Poems I read silently and feel flat suddenly come alive when I read them out loud. And who wouldn’t want SKB to recite their poem? An honour indeed. With thanks again, Anthony


  2. More thoughts. This poem has stayed in my mind all day. The still, compelling beauty of the last lines makes those “emphatic abstractions” seem also distractions from what is truly real and important, which should have our attention. And today is the 50th anniversary of Aberfan. Was that intentional, on your part? The day when so many went into that “room for everyone” in “the endless ground under us.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I too was so moved by Kenneth Brannagh reading this poem and have finally found it. One of the best series on T.V, and thankyou Kenneth Brannagh for making it so. This poem also brought me to this page , I felt compelled to search for it, The Half Finished Heaven by Tomas Transtromer

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I too have come to your page via a search for the author of the poem. I am sad that I have finished watching the last episode of Wallanger. Kenneth recited the poem so beautifully. I am sure I will go back and listen many times to come. “Because you are my daughter” This poem will stay with me always.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much Cheryl. I was watching this performance again on Netflix only the other night. It is a remarkable moment, chilling and deeply humane. With thanks for your support, Anthony


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