Friday, February 5, 2010
Doug's Cauliflower & and other people's poetry
A belly dried with foam
has gathered up the pieces of the house of the sea.
All that's missing is the deepest fish
of the first tenderness,
all that's missing is the glance that turned into hair
to understand the wind,
all that's missing is the form of the touch
of the first tree and the first light.
But there is a liquid sign that gathers together what is missing
like the line that draws the sea on the sea.
tran. W.S. Merwin
Border Zone, Minefield, Snow East of Bebra
Only the barbed wire and glaring arc lamps
make this fresh snow distinct from any other.
All things are anguished at having
to exist in one form or another--
so many hawks glide over the mined snowy field
not even small animals, one might suspect,
cross it unharmed. Catch and
pin have been so set
the lightest creature, even, would be blown to bits.
Out of blown clouds the full moon comes,
and the birds are gliding on and on, hungry still.
trans. Christopher Middleton