No. I don't speak, for I breathe in exultation. - Poem by Paul Snoek
No. I don't speak, for I breathe in exultation.
I don't draw near in the thrifty pelt of daylight,
but I find far off in the iron eyes of the nights the ore.
So my voice goes deeper and reaches the beasts:
high on the mountains the drinking birds
and lower the warm domes of the toads.
Everywhere that I, bleeding, set foot and drench,
I inhabit it endlessly and alive.
The power of the working woods I have ennobled,
the wood inspired with gentle warmth
and hear how noiselessly the chains of the seas engage,
how soft and glad the horizon melts in the moonlight.
No I do not speak, I scarcely breathe,
for glistening I suck oxygen from luxury.
I belong among the gods.
Translated by Kendall Dunkelberg
From: Hercules, Richelieu and Nostradamus, Green Integer, Los Angeles
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