for my grandfather
When I first came on a visit
to your limewashed house
- a clean-kneed child from town -
your two great fists
impressed me, for they
were ponderous chunks
of granite, notched
carelessly for fingers
and which, at your own willed
creation, you had torn
from the heart of the land.
Yes, I knew then how
you had risen and, separate,
must have kept on walking.
I was almost frightened
to be your friend, but still
am running so breathlessly
beside you as you stride
onwards, the castle of yourself,
across rough fields
of thistle and clover.
And the dogs are running
before us, and our laughter
creates again a flawless sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem