Today’s prompt was to find a poem in a foreign language that we do not understand and to write a poem based on what we imagine that poem might mean. I’ve placed my “translation” first. The Croatian poem I translated is below it.

THE SEPARATION CONTINUES

Pry back the blackness spread over the flattened
world, using the voice of poetry for your rake—
poetry no traveler can understand or translate.
Poetry no one knows the cost of—neither
posted propaganda nor cheap
joke, but rather words to soothe bad
kisses or portraits of topless women,
naked out of necessity
for a piece of bread or for a
drink: cheap vodka or blackberry wine. Yes,
this afternoon, crossing the tavern where love died,
and, coincidentally, where he first knew he loved me,
I tasted the rich baklava I used to serve him,
and we raised a glass to him
who will never write poetry again.

2014, Judy Dykstra-Brown
USA/Mexico

VRT FINCI CONTINIJEVIH

prije nego li sjednem za ovaj
stol, oprat ću ruke, poezija
ne trpi traktate o sebi, za-
gristi svježu kost, ona ne
dopušta da propadne u barutu
jezika, prahu i bromu to malo
kiše, potražit ću toplu ženu,
jer nijednu riječ nikada nećeš
dodirnuti da te ona ne pita o
sebi, zatvoriti oči, zaroniti, i,
tada, kreću s tavana svi mrtvi,
iz začuđenih usta isplove crni
ozbiljni barkaroli i širokim
zamasima pjevaju glasno
nad otvorima neba

© 1998, Miroslav Mićanović
Croatia