en dansant le jitterbug en bas au Woolpack,
dissipant la melancolie des rues recemment bombardees,
chaque homme portant des medailles comme un general
d'un sourire d'ici-nous-venons
comme ils sautent de leurs jeeps. Des etrangers
du paradis, deguises comme de seuls mortels,
ils versent Southern Comfort
dans la tasse de the de maman
avant de se diriger loin au-dela de la salle missionaire
a leur aube glaciale a la Plage Omaha.
-Staffordshire 1944.
'Yanks'... Peter Bland.'Collected Poems 1962-2011', p.113.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Coming with smile strangers move. Every man wearing medals as a general he smiles. Recovering lives from recently bombed streets they move ahead. At Omaha Beach icy dawn talks about new development of them towards peace. This poem is amazingly written and brilliantly translated.