6 thoughts on “Senryu # 50

  1. Les oiseaux du soir
    En volant vers la lune
    Ont bu ton silencieux appel
    ———————————–
    Not a litteral translation – probably less graceful than the original, yet still very beautiful 🙂 proof that pure poetry has no borders 🙂 I love the beauty you (re)create and celebrate in three lines only. Merci 🙂

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    1. Poetry overflows. Words are but vessels that house the sacred essence. Silence, Wine, Dawn. No language can express the inexpressible. We can only approach it. Intimate it. And through that become…poetry.

      A poet does not translate. He cannot. All he can do is drink, and have that wine in him become the sacred hymn.

      Love the resonance of the French words! 🙂

      Merci à vous mon ami.

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      1. You’re very welcome 🙂 you’re so right, “we can only approach” the inexpressible. But I love to translate poetry even as we say in French, “traduction-trahison”, translation betrays… because it’s always interesting, as you say, to listen to the “resonance” of the words the poet used, in a language that is not his. Amitiés, 🙂

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