||[Aug. 18th, 2005|06:34 pm]
I translated a few poems by Vladimir Gandelsman, a contemporary Russian author who lives in New York. He uses rhyme beautifully in the original (you will see my attempts to render it without making the poem sound hurdy-gurdy in English).|
English is not my native language, and any feedback from native speakers with a fine sensitivity to the language would be terrific.
The phenomenal quality of my life, of walking,
the pull force of breathing,
the freezing morning’s empty volume,
and in it, my stepping;
one fall into life, into the slipcover
of skin, into vertical people’s logic, into the discussion over
muscle, and bone, and joint,
that’s accepted on earth at this point—-
and I walk to the bus stop and stand there, cold;
and I can’t help it but squirm
my toes in their boots. All of me is one well-aimed shot
of being, and its one term.
Thank you for your time.