The ship, solid and black,
enters the clear blackness
of the great harbor.
Quiet and cold.
—The people waiting
are still asleep, dreaming,
and warm, far away and still stretched out in this
dream, perhaps . . .
How real our watch is, beside the dream
of doubt the others had! How sure it is, compared
to their troubled dream about us!
Quiet. Silence.
Silence which in breaking up at dawn
will speak differently.
Translated by Robert Bly
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I sent this poem to a friend who asked for something to address a recent death (of his son's friend) .... not knowing myself that that same evening my own son was taking his life at the end of a cold dark road in California's lost coast. this is true.