planebridge1 copy

Yesterday I swapped my aerial photograph

of the bridge for a bottle of pinot gris,

the day before that it was chocolate cake

for a translation of river ice

inside every shard the river;

translating poetry from English

into Slovak is not as simple

as spinning straw into gold.

I am told it would help if I added a verb

but the river doesn’t do anything

inside the ice, it just is.

I emptied my pockets of coins for a man

who asked for food, now I don’t leave the house

without muesli bars in my bag

but what I really want to say in every case is –

Here, take this poem,

you cannot eat it but perhaps for a minute

it might stir in you a new hunger

to take your mind off the worst of the old …

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