A wonder maschine with
arms and legs; it taps at doors
and shakes vases. Heavy as a brick,
a dancer over white pages, a changer,
subversive with small bells.
An orchestra waiting; the hanging moment.
A terrible beauty has escaped.
Fern Hill was born at its ribbon.
A heap of old iron to change your inside.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a terrible beauty, I like it, thanks.