May 2007
6 posts
Translations V: As the Poets Agree at Midnight to...
“Musiken är ett glashus på sluttningen
där stenarna flyger, stenarna rullar.
Och stenarna rullar tvärs igenom
men varje ruta förblir hel.”
—Tomas Tranströmer from Allegro
On the porch grows basil in its pot,
and an equal pot of oregano.
The hovering bees retire from the night and its single star
above the poems and the beer.
Besides the scented air, we are lost in...
Too good to save for the fall...
Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio
In the Shreve High football stadium,
I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville,
And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood,
And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel,
Dreaming of Heroes.
All the proud fathers are ashamed to go home.
Their women cluck like starved pullets,
Dying for love.
Therefore,
Their sons grow...
