Posted in: poem, translation, travelog

don’t translate everything

Unreal to be asking strangers
about the color
of their discharge

my voice kind
my voice
but without compassion
I don’t recognize it

I am not the one ignoring
not translating
and yet translating how do I determine
whether it has any relevance
that they cut you up nine years ago
and poured petrol into your wounds
for your rash, your cough, your nightmares

refrain from embracing
the tears on your face
if I were to cry with you
it would change nothing
no good night’s sleep to offer you

but you with the hirsute chin who cried
from contagious relief
with fortunately not being pregnant

my hand on your arm

one oblivious moment
after all

dansk version

Comment (1) on "don’t translate everything"

  1. Don Schofield siger:

    This poem tells me so much about “the other.” Thank you.

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