Now I'm really up a creek
Without a paddle, dear,
For I prefer your Ding An Sich
To any Noumen here
And cannot rub you from my eyes
Or willfully pretend
That things be anyotherwise-
I wish I could, my friend.
See- in my dreams I'm chasing you
Through cloud, and, thunderation! ,
Clear from this and here, into
The coming generation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem