A ray of light, to an oblique observer,
Remains invisible in pure dry air;
But shone into a turbid element
It throws distracting side-gleams everywhere
And is diminished by what takes the eye.
So poetry that moves by chance collision
Scatters its brightness at each random mote
And mars the lucid order of its vision.
The purest meditation will appear
Faint or invisible to those who glance
Obliquely at its unreflected beam;
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This reminds me of a chapter in the Tao Te Ching. That which is deepest and most subtle is barely noticed, except by those who value the greatest things. This poem is excellent: there's concision, depth, and good flow. It is beautifully understated and meditative.