One million elephants couldn't begin to understand

August 11

 

from THE ART OF TRANSLATION

The verdant mountains cleanse my pent up dismals,
Relaxing insouciantly myself in the wealds

August 10

 

On the other hand, my “Marcus Aurelius” was already taken up elsewhere
so that’s alright then –

August 9

 

I was perhaps too ambiguous for the frail lilacs
I should have sent them one of my jokes

August 8

 

I remembered living in the mountains
And all the nights I could not sleep

August 7

 

But if we had not ventured beyond the fences life would surely have been dull beyond compare.

August 6

 

Why, I ask, are these dead leaves this crappy off-white? Shall I turn the page?
To be suddenly so unsure of spontaneity is disconcerting.

August 5

 

When I arrive at the bus station
it’s to discover the schedules have been re-arranged
and the bus I was planning to catch to wherever I’m going is gone

August 4

 

I don’t have a shilling for the meter or a card for the machine or a password
to get into wherever it is I want to go or the know-how of what to do when I arrive

August 3

 

The hat had evidently been designed by someone with a past in the umbrella industry.

August 2

 

And with the clatter of tiny hooves, the sheep and goat athletics meet was finally underway.