No imagination, can fly as high,
As when Poetry, comes by,
And takes the bird, your soul, by the wing
So it can sing, sing, sing!
The joy in this is absolutely ringing out, Sandra! Isn't that the glorious thing about writing- we can touch the heart of our readers in so many different ways. Joy, Sorrow, Pain, Melancholy, Awareness of Social Needs- - it's all good. And may you, sweet bird, sing your soul forever and a day. 10+++++++++++++++++++++++
I don't know what I would do without my imagination. Life would be too boring.
How vert true! Imagination is then set free from her cage, lovely poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Flight and Song - two things which metaphorically connect birds and poets. The details are very different but on the archetypal level our imaginative flight = birds' physical flight and our poems = birds' songs. And birds symbolize the soul in many myths, eg. Irish myths. In one of his very last poems Yeats describes the warrior Cuchullin arriving in the Land of the Dead and greeted by its residents WHOSE THROATS HAD BECOME THE THROATS OF BIRDS. So your poem occupies the MYTHOPOETIC level (great word: mythopoetic! !) I think I'd like to spend eternity as a bird in free flight through the spacious empyrean, singing MY SONG, harmonising with your song, Pam's song, Fabrizio; s, Liza's, Kelly; s, et alia ad infinitum.