I climb on top of myself
and look:
and see myself as more transparent.
I didn't know, I didn't, that the wind went
with my head of hair
and that it could be so content.
Now all the time I grouch and glare
and out of me I fly
to abysses, endless routes and sky.
I don't have time to love: my arm isn't long enough
– Clara, Barbara, my friends –
to go around you,
to arrive at life.
And, you might as well know, I am learning to write in prose
the rose.
Josep Palau i Fabre (1917 - 2008) Spain
For Joan Perucho, 15 January 1943
Translated by Julie Wark
Thank you for this enjoyable post
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