Translations of Poetry Are Not Like Translations of Saints to Heaven
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Elijah
Translators kiss a piece of writing to
Another language. Does the piece survive
This change? The poem speaks then through
A foreign realm. It is as if a live
Tongue licks across a blue mantilla on
A gasping girl. The words are muddled, lost,
Or something, making readers want to fawn
On missing meanings. This is like a frost
On blood stained lips that hunger for true strength.
The truest, strongest poems when thus kissed
Are like an SS trooper’s aching length—
But through a swastika. Too much like mist
Resulting lines are wet with struggles in
Their failure. This is all a lot like sin.