Mr. Jaroslav Seifert
received the Nobel Prize, a sad blow
to his country's
authorities who unwillingly
found themselves
forced to accept
at least
a small portion of his poems
translated into
other
tongues. A high-ranking official
comes to visit
the poet in his home, asking
the 83-year-old man to understand
the difficult decision
the Cultural Committee is faced with, having to select
the proper poems. Mr. Seifert, patiently
listening, agrees to
everything
said. All of a sudden
he asks the man from the
Administration: Do you happen to recall
who was the Minister of Culture
under Balzac? The bureaucrat, somewhat
puzzled, is taken aback
and has to admit
that no, he doesn't. Well, Mr. Seifert said, there
we are.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem