Ocean Of Meanings [rev.] Poem by Margaret Alice Second

I know now why translating is so difficult for me -
why I struggle with texts supposedly only taking
an hour to translate: translation is interpretation -
never neutral nor value-free; while imagination’s
forbidden, mine is awake - demanding attention
in the form of a little alien resolutely hanging on
the rafters in my brain -

The translator is an interpreter and controlled by
cultural and ideological personal value systems
which have infinite possibilities of meaning & the
language keeps opening into increasing numbers
of old or new ideas; meaning is never inherent in
a text, it’s fabricated by subjective interpretations;
meaning is endlessly debatable -

Many alluring choices hail the intrepid translator,
persuading me into alleyways irrelevant to the Troll
Interpol, the Presidential manicured-to-perfection
secretaries, or to officials importantly sitting behind
desks, examining permits with a magnifying glass,
catching illegal importers - or seeking germs and
vermin about to be shipped -

But I digress, I’m adrift in this shimmering ocean of
possible meanings & supposed to choose the ONE
perfect way leading to ONE perfect answer which
should be ingrained in me through repetition - but
I always miss - TRUTH is sucked into the black hole
lurking in my head - only a desire to discover the
scope of the universe is left -

It’s clear why Mary Poppins’ changing of humdrum
activities into fantasies intersect with my translating
ability to create a text all in a mess with my using new
ideas where the hackneyed & singular, crystal-clear
bureaucratic meaning is required instead…