by Bill Yarrow
I cerebrate myself and singe myself
and what you illume, I refuse
for every good Adam betrothed to you will to me betray
I chafe and incite my soul
I bake and chafe in my disease
my speech, every item of tongue foams in this soil-
earth's parents … whose parents …
arrrrggghhh … I now sixty-seven
sixty-eight, sixty-nine years
chagrin besmears me, increases
till death, old shoals in obeisance
nothing suffices as harbor
but a permit to claw at every yawing chasm
exuberance is beauty … lesion of enthusiasm
All rights reserved.
This poem was published in Treehouse.
It is one of my "Translations from the English."
"exuberance is beauty"--William Blake
"lesion of enthusiasm"--F. Scott Fitzgerald
This poem appears in Incompetent Translations and Inept Haiku (Cervena Barva Press 2013).