I think I am close,
but I am far away,
not miles,
but mental continents.
My reach, long in hope,
longing and aching,
for a film partner.
A switch over, switch off,
warm hand.
Suddenly
time is real,
TV soaps sting to life,
their daubing depths
of cheap whitewash
overflow.
I think I am close,
but who to?
Nearer and nearer,
tomorrow’s sunset plays,
its red wine apologies,
mumble out of nowhere,
into my sieving mind.
I recall small promises blooming,
into wild rambling gardens full of verse,
scented daydreams wafting about me,
twisting and turning my head,
to waken, some long forgotten,
subterranean urge, sodden through,
but drying at my eager request.
I think I am close,
but I am far away.
And you are still
an unmet stranger.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Many lines really speak to me: 'tomorrow's sunset plays, its red wine apologies mumble out of nowhere into my sieving mind.' That is just right (and now I have a term for what is happening with my formerly quite sharp mind) . 'My reach, long in hope...' I think I am close, but I am far away.' Both lovely, lovely, lovely. Have you ever considered changing 'but who to' to 'but to whom'? I know I am often too much the English teacher, but your poem has an elegance that those words would suit.
sorry for the 9 year delay, but some blokes are just slow ; +0 like your suggestion...jerry