In the forest darkness of the night
an icy disembodied cry is heard
as in the strange performance of a rite.
Here where the strangled ghost of past delight
wanders within me like a long-lost word
in the forest darkness of the night
seeking breath with which it could recite
the spell by which it once was disinterred
as in the strange performance of a rite.
Above me only icy stars invite
this empty apparition to be heard
in the forest darkness of the night.
Where once angelic images took flight
and everywhere I heard wings of a word
as in the strange performance of a rite
now images are banished from my sight
and only the owl’s frosted voice is heard
in the forest darkness of the night
as in the strange performance of a rite.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem