Sick of those who come with words, words but no language,
I make my way to the snow-covered island.
Wilderness has no words. The unwritten pages
stretch out in all directions.
...
I come across this line of deer-slots in the snow: a language,
language without words. —Translated by Robin Robertson
addendum to Transtromer:
In the solitude of the white wilderness,
I will make a snowman, my friend
and it will speak my language.
Its voice will be water to everyone,
who will quench their thirst,
with words they have never heard.
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