Beyond the sun who can reach?
…Once, in an evening purple soft,
When the air was kindled wool,
I met a boy rolling a wooden hoop
From a backyard,
Through alley and street,
Uphill, where the ball of the sun
Was suspended —
A roll and a rush and a run —
And he set
In the sun,
In the red transparence,
Tore apart
The heart of the sun with his hoop
And, drunken,
Rolled it on,
On and on.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great imagery.............very nicely done.............