I hear you
loud and clear;
it's just that I don't know what you're saying.
I see your
images, bright and striking,
a collage, a montage, specimens of reality amid lines and colors:
'an irridescent green beetle, '
'trail paved... with coins, '
'three skulls... in a box of Olympia beer, '
'pale grass: vitiligo, '
'a sforzando of light';
it's just that I don't know what I'm seeing.
So I must go
to the notes -
like old arithmetic books
with answers in the back.
Eskimaux, I suppose:
Inupiaq:
'stories about Nome, '
'dating from Nome's gold rush, '
'hauntings and layers of history, '
'images and stories of disturbance, '
'husband and children [asleep].'
I want to hear what you're saying;
I want to see what you've seen.
I don't:
'along with you'
I 'fever through'
poetry.
Whatever that may mean.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I don't know anything about poetry. I jus t know WHAT I like and don't worry too much about why. I think many poetry readers feel this way. Many others just 'like' something because they were told it was 'good' or written by a 'good' poet. We are an easily influenced species. Nobody likes everything but everybody likes something.