I can't write poems
any more.
Words won't succumb
to my wishes
(succumb
isn't the right word, is it?)
They demand commands.
I can't give them;
trumpets, I can't sound.
I hear their wings
beyond my mind -
Almost hear....
Poetry surpasses me
(except surpasses
isn't exactly
what I want to say, is it?)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
When I clicked on your poem, I was going to start by welcoming you but then to my surprise the poem is a farewell to the craft you sense you cannot exercise. But the poem with its wonderfully constructed stanzas and frequent and eloquent expressions of an impasse flows majestically on to a natural ending. But I don't want to put MY ideas in your head. Just to acknowledge a poem of humility and grace. Perhaps... what you want to say is, Thank you, Realm of Poetry, for letting still wander among your green growths, even in this Autumn of my writing, and touch whatever life I can still reach.