—for my A and Ω, Eleni—who knows me better than I do myself
Why is it when I at last
Give in and grudgingly promise
To translate a few of my more
"Knotty” avant-garde poems
For you, my not-so-comfy with English
Better half, half-way into them I get
That nagging sense you think
They were all Greek to me too,
From their promising beginnings
To nowhere in particular
In the end.
Why is it when I at last
Give in and grudgingly promise
To translate a few of my more
"Knotty” avant-garde poems
For you, my not-so-comfy with English
Better half, half-way into them I get
That nagging sense you think
They were all Greek to me too,
From their promising beginnings
To nowhere in particular
In the end.
Beautiful. All my “adult” life, I’ve been trying to translate my thoughts into English. And for the last forty-two years, I’ve had the same nagging sense. One look from my better half both tells me it’s hopeless, and that I should keep trying. As for the knots, the question remains: scissors, or one last try?
ReplyDeleteBlimey. This hits home a fair bit.
ReplyDeleteThat last bit, to put a fine point on it, he winced.
ReplyDelete(Did not every better half always know at least two-thirds of too much, anyhow?)
Ah, three sensitive souls joining a fourth in paying tribute to their awesome better halves, better known as auspices—priceless!
ReplyDelete