Survivors
As if tracing a perfect, pre-destined route,
the bird soars
through the air,
turning that clichéd blue sky blindingly blue —
that afternoon sky
under which I am going postmodernly mad
A gaggle of customers stuck outside the restaurant throng
round the door
unable to queue.
The literal translation of this poem was made by Kyoo Lee
The final translated version of the poem is by Sarah Maguire
© Poetry Translation Centre 2004-2012
Tom Fleet says:
Survivors, Hungering
Gliding perfectly straight, now there's a bird knows where it's going
The sky shimmering blue, rendered by it in passing
The afternoon beneath, turning delirious and postmodernly so
People too late for tables stood lineless at the door