along the road
the gentle whisper
of wild grass
still he wonders why
the women leave him
walking along
Breda's cobbled streets,
musing ...
far away in Amsterdam
a woman awaits my husband
in the Veluwe
rumours of the hunt ...
warthog tribes
snouts pressed to the ground
warpaint on their hooves
after two days
at the orphanage
I died
then lived through
five more lives
this is still
the metropolis of
my youth
when my stepmother scolded
and called me dirty names
The original of this next one was written in Filipino, after news of yet another landslide in The Philippines. The English version is not a literal, but a figurative translation, although some of the words match: gubat = forest, bayan = country, nakalublob = buried.
ang gubat
ay wala na ...
sa putik
nakalublob
ang ating bayan
the forest
is no more ...
the land
has buried itself
in its own clay
These tanka were published in the first issue of Atlas Poetica, Number 1, Spring 2008. I'm rather proud of them, especially considering the fact that all of them were written very quickly and spontaneously. Thanks a lot, Mr. Kei!
1 comment:
You're right to be proud, Ella. Each of these is strong in its own way, and the variety is impressive.
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