I want to drill for eloquence
that oil that seeps
easily out of her lips
every time she speaks
I want to pump it
in pristine, perfect pipes
around Australia
So even in the bush,
people can sound
like 18th or 19th Century,
top of the League Table,
English poets.
We'll seem polite and genteel
educated, even erudite.
We'll hold moments
remembered in tranquility.
We'll think of Grecian urns,
Kubla Khan in Xanadu
as an every day affair
Conversations will naturally turn
to La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Or Mort d'Arthur
Syrup, sweet word music
will fall softer than petals
blown from roses on the grass
Passions will be expressed
without exposing flesh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem