Conrad laid anchor
on the calm plateau sea
near the shipwreck of Someries Castle
where future Luton Airport planes
would screech in low to land:
GBS, young eighty-five,
leprechauned the emerald
leys round Ayot St.Lawrence
or boot-scrunched the stony track
to Codicote, and the Mimram.
Bunyan went from crypt
to crypt on the Chiltern fields -
Temple End, Witnesses Wood -
to save the inhabitants
of Cockernhoe and Bendish...
and Charles Lamb bought Button Snap
on the lane to the dead villages;
nettle-traps at Westmill Green,
the bulge of buried Wakeley
that informed him: matricide.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem