He paddles in the spotlight-sun
of first memory:
tables are his friends
and the decking floor.
All he does in this charmed time
opens as a petal
when past, present and future
are three of his aunts smiling
and waves of jazz roll
across the beach of the Foyer Bar:
the Heaven Armstrong and Ellington glimpsed
at the end of their lives
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Captures the magic which one can just remember or fill in...I'm not myself sure whether the last stanza is too 'commenty' - would a reversion to the toddler round it off better?