The eternal spirits pass us by
On their shooting pathways through the sky
From the starting-point of time
Since the moment they were born
On occasion they take earthly form
Appear as if before our eyes
Nothing less than terrified
Lives weighted by tablets of time
When the electric calender starts
We cover up the smallest signs
Of darkness pounding in our hearts
Now if I had gone to Liverpool
Or stayed awhile in Newcastle
And there had practised poetry
Every day with ink and pen
Crouched in broken tenements
Asleep beside the railway stations
There might be doves atop Big Ben
These energies might now be clean
I might be in the slightest wise
Prepared to meet these apparitions
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem