84, Charing Cross Road (for Eileen Lavery)
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84, Charing Cross Road (for Eileen Lavery) I saw you, Helene, after all the
bookshops had vanished,Your wrists thin below the raveling cuffs of your
sweate...
3 days ago
7 comments:
Ah, the voice to the poem. "And that's how is."
I, for one, love it. Wonderful transalating.
transalating! I think that's like salivating!
Translating!!!!!!!
Ain't it more like salalivating?
Thanks for taking the time to find, sign up and comment me, John. There isn't a word I commit to paper that I don't think, "I wonder what John is doing and how he might say this instead..." Seriously.
I've added you to my daily reads... Great to see you online.
Hey Judd, I was just damn pleased to find out you were kicking about.
Well, yeah, he sure is. Whistling right past the graveyard, even. Trying to tell himself that because he acknowledges the graveyard is right there, and he can still pucker his lips and blow, he's okay with it being there. He's a liar.
As he says himself in Autopsicografia:
The poet is a liar who lies so well
that he can pretend to feel the pain
which is the pain he really feels.
And those who read the poet's lies
on paper, feel in the dark ink tears,
not the two pains the poet felt,
but a single pain they'll never feel.
And so on its one short loop of track,
round and round, beyond reason, he starts
the wind-up train we call the heart.
Hmm, I think that second stanza would read better as
And those who read the poet's lies
feel, in the dark ink of tears,
not the two pains the poet felt,
but a single pain they'll never know.
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