The evening draws near Poem by Mark Boog
The evening draws near
The evening draws near; I lay myself out.
Solace is sought in preservative wine
and much is found. The same as dregs
I descend to the bottom of the glass,
where I sleep restlessly.
Unwanted sediment is mine.
The windows, tender holes;
the fall, well-nigh the same as jumping; and so thirst,
the insatiable, which taunts and comforts us, remains.
Translation: 2004, Willem Groenewegen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/2/2024 9:46:07 AM # 1.0.0.1119
