Upon a crisp shore of grass
As blue as a cerulean egg stolen from
Some bird too far away to mention,
I will watch my mother lie down—
Putting away her works,
She will bathe in the tranquility of
The valley—
Hers is the beauty I work to perpetuate
Even since she sat me in a library
And read all of the wonderful things
From her motherly lips—
Oedipus' muse, I swear.
I have made love to other girls not
As good as her—
And they have only given me so many
Words to express my feelings—
One lies waiting for me in bed right now.
Maybe she understands I am drunk.
But I will swing the bottle around again,
As my mother lies there weeping
On the other side of the state
In a field of strawberries
That have fallen into her grasp like
Ruby stars of the horizon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem