In the Spring issue, a translation of José Oliver by Johannes.
These translations are copyright © 2002 by Walle Sayer and Johannes Beilharz. All rights reserved.
For more Poetry
Nevernever and real or true, no
simsalacadabra, just a child saying:
I really really wish I'd wished for that.
Say another tongue twister.
Say a love clause.
Say easy come easy go.
Say the name you'd like to pick for yourself.
Say that the angels' smile is stonemason work.
Say that my birthday is a loss carried forward.
Stop it, stop pretending.
Say decay of beauty.
Say beauty of decay.
Say money fattening unit.
Say bone salary.
Say I live beside my biography.
Say please, thank you, please.
Construction cranes whose long arm
pushes aside the clouds
outside the window, seven hours
of the day piled up already,
light clumps on my eyes,
lids latching in, taped
bird calls droning in my ears,
twining around a tiny voice
that has eaten blue chalk.
A barrel hoop like this
rolling through the bumpy courtyard.
Marking, wherever it drops,
the center of the lost world.
The year is 1969: call me Scottie,
step in, have yourself beamed down.
If you close your eyes now
you will be caught by a fall.