... and then i was made whole,
but not a thing entire,
glued to a perch
in a gilded church,
strung through with a silver wire:
singing a little of this and of that,
warbling higher and higher:
a thing wholly dead
till I lifted my head
and spat at the Lord and his choir.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well conceived and elegantly crafted in beautiful rhyme scheme with conviction. A beautiful work of art. Thanks for sharing, Michael.