Zadown Posted October 29, 2001 Report Posted October 29, 2001 I throw words to the air like bright stones they form a picture when they fall and I am fascinated as a child I do it again again they draw something better than me ever I get tired of the game I grimace and throw my colors away they form a picture when they fall like a curse clinging to me my stomach twists I look around seeing the world with new eyes it is a poem now feeling scared I take all my tools built from letters pour them far from me they form a picture when they fall I stop resisting
Peredhil Posted June 2, 2003 Report Posted June 2, 2003 I'm trying to recall why this was addressed to me... I think it's because if I enjoy your works, as I do Zadown's works, I Politely pester people to produce prolifically. And gems like this lay buried like ancient sap, only to be unearthed like warm amber.
Zadown Posted June 2, 2003 Author Report Posted June 2, 2003 (edited) You not-quite forced me (not-quite since polite people don't) to continue translating my old poems after I had translated a few. The original had a different name, but then again when ye translate a poem to another language it changes more than simple prose. So I thought it fitting for this one to be titled thus. Edit: I just wonder how many poems I did translate - my finnish archives have 34 poems. Hmmm. Edited June 2, 2003 by Zadown
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