I saw Greece's stony fist lying
in the Mediterranean and a ship
that peeled back the water's blue
in rippled stripes. Further east
Turkish poems, unpronounceable,
stirred by rhythmic waves.
I saw how the water separated itself
from the salt on the suffering coast.
Between all of the glowering stones
the epics arose: the stories
of thistles and bread
baked by the sun.
Down there the language went ashore
and everything received a name.
I could see it clearly -
the words trembled like a flock of birds
above the wasteland.
We had to buckle up, lashed down,
with bated breath
we reached the promised land.
Translated by Bradley Schmidt
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely and insightful narrative piece of poetry, nicely penned with conviction. Thanks for sharing Michael.