Tuesday, January 17, 2017

POEM: "Translate"


                  for Romaine Scott

How a poet turns
another poet's translation
into another poem
sinking a shaft
no weakness or cracks
no reference to the original
or the translation of it
imagine that
there are parts to assemble
flecks of gold here and there
so language will get off
the late Sunday train
in a little country town
there's no one there to meet it
except (I think) a patient horse
waiting for its rider
who seems to have disappeared
it has just started to rain
the words are getting soaked
there’s no shelter anywhere
a man emerges from the night
asks where they’re going
and the damn things don't know.

© 2017 Rob Schackne

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