blank verse
The Winter Tremble blank verse by Stéphane Mallarmé (1842-1898), my translation Always slow, among flowers and deities, the clock striking thirteen. Who previously owned this Saxon clock? Picture them bringing it from Saxony by…
poem in my translation
The Butterfly by Afanasy Fet (1820-1892) You’re right. An outline of Air I am so sweet. My velvet with its living blinking– only two wings. Don’t ask me whence, what brought me, where I…
Time
Dark night has choked daylight. Day is dead. It won’t come back to senses any more. You killed the time again. You must be mad To waste the only treasure you afford. Time is for…
Mongol Yurt, a door never locked
An always open door In a silver night The sky is crowded with stars. Green waves are surging and soaring In the forest of wind An open door is white like Mongolian yurts, Is inlaid…