Eye-Tentacle Fish Poem by Monika Rinck

Hark! Hear how honey chronicles mock, it's by no means certain
that what's clear's always light, it might equally darken itself
with high-power exegesis, but without forfeiting any of its clarity.
The way it is for fishes. Who can see the difference but not
express it. The eye-tentacle fish, for instance, that's blind
to its own doodad. But who amongst us escapes this fate?
With the eye-tentacle fish, though, doodad's not blind to fish.
It uses its outboard eye to distinguish precisely between
what's clear but dark and what's dark but unclear also.
With its eye-arm, the built-on telescope, it sees this clearly.
Look, an eye-tentacle fish disguised as an algae-covered pebble.
Insanely lit, far too bright. With this eye, it sees only what's dark,
with the other it sees itself, if it's light. With both, it sees
what's clear flaring up in the dark, but because it's in disguise
it doesn't see itself. And one more thing: water mustn't burn.

Translated by Nicholas Grindell