“Quiet pools and fixed colours”
[Deborah Tyler-Bennett]
We considered painting chairs
to match certain blue flowers
religiously sought this year
for sky in the garden:
agapanthus, blue sage,
or autumn gentians.
Instead,
in fiery red of leaves,
canna, lobelia, and those
cut sunflowers someone brought,
generations' thoughts,
current in chosen words,
swim in the acoustics
of this walled garden,
pond-splash of goldfish,
and the story so great
that, splintered,
we do not see it.
Inside the circle,
waving grasses
of half-revelation.
Outside, we see the circle
clearly, as poets talk round
greatness of Arthur.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem