Day 16: Rough Translation

Due to yesterday’s events, I decided not to write simply because I had nothing to say.  Today though, I started typing again.  I originally wanted to do an Irish poem since there’s a large population of Irish people in Boston (as well as being my hertiage), but ended up going with Norwegian writer Ingrid Storholmen’s The rhythm of the morning heart (also heritage).  I really loved how this poem talks about morning, meaning a new day.  If you are reading this, you are lucky today for you are alive.  Enjoy it, ever minute of it!

Rough translation:

 Morning time rhymes
Are in my hand
They waken me like birds

 Set Meg’s frame by the door
See the gentle forest where Meg is alone 

Foreshadow the tides
Let vendors vend by the side I walk
Have her inside with mittens on
For one inside her burden will leave then

 The inner light
The maker so rare
Send us some rare light

 

Actual translation:

The rhythm of the morning heart  
against a hand  
you didn’t wake from this

put me down there 
so I can imagine the city alone  

We delay the time  
I wait by your side in the water  
what is left of the night then 
I should have left it a long time ago  

until love  
is able to touch  
us  
who cannot be touched  

 

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