for Franz Wright
Let us put on the blue
whose voice is this -
the bird, slight, brown,
down on the planks
pecking between them
hoping darkness yields
Whose is it, the dark
thing beneath or be-
tween the mean streak
of the conquering beam,
the sudden sun not
blundering but purpose
full, not dull as the day
is or was until the bird
blinks up and darts
unconfused by wings
knowing, fly, fly now
light is here
and terrible
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very interesting! I love the vivid imagery and choice of words. Thanks. Keep sharing with us.