Some poems can be lifelines pulling readers
like swimmers drowning in the roughest seas,
while others are like planks of finest cedars
on which they float until the oceans freeze,
but none are lifeboats on which they can sail
to harbors that are warm and safe and dry,
for ultimately every poem fails
to tell the readers where and when and why
they did not reach the harbor that they sought,
for though they may mistakenly suppose
that they are sailing to the poet’s port,
his vessel’s poetry while theirs is prose.
3/13/06
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem