The revolving strobe of the lighthouse
dances brightly against the rocky coast
and out of the salty surf rises the rough
rigid rocks from beneath the waters
of the bay a crusty crib cradles its only
child with an island of silt and rock
the oceans mightiest efforts continually
challenge its engineering prowess pounding
pounding
its once stout walls crumble rust stained
brown the crimson roofs faded pink
a tattered shred of flag flaps above the
peeling white paint rope-less clothes poles
tilt worn and weak waiting and the light
still revolves in the night and yet the
darkened door remains solidly closed
forever... now I ask you can words
be lonely as a place.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your words do evoke the loneliness of that place - the lighthouse, once strong and solid, a symbol of man's efforts to control the powers of the ocean and now left to decay. It reminds me of a French film about the wife of a lighthouse man (is that the English word?) and her affair with a stranger who comes to work in the lighthouse - a beautiful film about friendship and deceit and about work in the lighthouse and the sadness of their disappearance. Your poem with its alliterations and very evocative language has a similar effect. All in all a more than nice poem. Magda