There is a land of poets
In which known names
Occasionally let enter
Another name
And those names play among themselves
And enjoy being
The names and poems they are-
And there is another land of poets
In which unknown and unmentioned
The vast mass of us
Write our would-be poems
And encouraged by a rare eureka
Continue fooling ourselves
In lonely isolation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Two halves of truth equals the circle of poetry. How right you are my friend.