I heard the white tusk
Hitting with ivory
Power the gold wall
Of resigned agony.
I heard
I heard and in some
Times
I sang
I versified.
Now tired I will to
Lie on fallen leaves
Fallen on fallen.
Centre of breathing
In the decline
Of breathing.
He sate him at
The café
Oxygenated.
Went out in the fields
Of Dawn
When it was dusk
Red dusk
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Resigned agony seems to identify a recurring awareness in this group of poems, but it is not whole story. There is your versifying which provides a royal road toward some positive outlook. I mean: A poet, fired by his imagination, can look into the abyss and see a garden. Who is to tell us which is the real vision?