1.
For me it makes little difference: poet, poetess -
depends on the measure, and the stress -
I prefer translator, but admit
that I sometimes can't be plied, I'm a narcissist.
2.
My earliest poetry was about rain
and weeping. Today it would be
prose and rain, or gunpowder:
it's raining out, wind rapes the window,
a street is never like the brochures -
With fine eloquence I stab my note
to the world through my heart.
It bursts, withered muscle bloat -
a thousand times that life were more than art.
3.
If the line's strict measure doesn't aim to show
but is a seeking instead -
or is the taste of what it finds . . .
If I don't write to order,
but showered by latter rain.
4.
Certainly, I can pose
for the camera,
mold my mouth to the click, close
down the diaphragm. It depends
how the roll is developed -
model artist prey, I'm like everyone:
the lives I don't touch interest me
in uneven parts of avarice and voracity.
Before they know me, period,
they know me periodically.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem