Dame street, dublin Poem by Michael Speier

and, wild-swans the morning
at bewley's flurries
yet tea in our words
yet light in the bag
l'île joyeuse not
asunderjoined yet
intertwined

wishes, press the sleep key
mornings at bewley's
of celtic twilight
don't the waiters
crunch yeats into our feathers
ears full of wind
and question particles

but language
mornings at bewley's
it wanted it knew
it took me I'll put
your stick in my mouth *
didn't keep me back as far as you
craned your neck

*original in English

Translated by Rosmarie Waldrop