Feverish
Feverish gobbling
ducks of night
that swell fat and
large at night
when the red dusk
awry gone
pining stops
takes to its feet
to its welcome caves
it flees;
and
the night is feverish
feverish
restless
feverish
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Descriptions of the night as a time of restlessness and fever frame a vignette of a duck going about its duck-life and then going to sleep (?) . So I assume the restlessness and fever are in the human observer who cannot ignore them the way the duck can. It is his experience of always being in a double consciousness - both of the outer world and his inner world. The duck is oblivious to these things and can just waddle off and go to sleep. But we human beings are forever observing and thinking - restlessness and fever always characterizes us.