Dylan Thomas

The Force That Through the Green Fuse Drives the Flower (Triptych)


Explosive era
of green roots and flowers drives
green fuse destroyers.

I have my youth and
turn heat rose in silence to
say the same frost forced

water into the
rock of my red blood. My stream
turns to the bite of

dry wax—overwhelmed,
waving hands in swirling pools
of water as a

sail of breathable
wind hauls my rope. I’m stupid,
made of clay. The lime

hangman stops, collects
the gentle erosion of
her blood-dropped loves, stars

struck time-dumb like round
paradise weather. The tomb
of the worm goes mute.

[via Korean and Japanese, Google and Bing translators]


Green-armed forces are
denouncing the massacre
of me at the root

of the tree of my
drive. And my youth was silent
by the same winter

fever of roses,
fraudulent military
blood through the rock mouth

of vein water. An
explosion of red wax streams
in silence, a shroud

of spring absorption.
Stomach-blowing quicksand to
win the hang-silent

clay of my plaster
executioner. Leech lips
on a love fountain.

Blood sores in a calm
wind around a paradise
of air-ticked stars. My

grave is heaven checked.
A serious cheat sheet fans
my worms to one fraud.

[via Thai and Chinese, Google and Bing translators]


My age is fused in
green flower youth. Green tree roots
are bent close, discs fused

under the winter.
My mouth is transformed into
wax. I am stupid.

Mountain spring veins suck
whirls of quicksand that blow my
ropes. I would say the

hanging man has crazed
my clay. Low blood drips in a
catchment. Lips gather

love to soothe their wounds.
And I would say that crayfish
time is selected

in the sky around
stars. And tomb lovers wrong no
more than crooked hearts.

[via Norwegian-Lithuanian-Romanian, Bing translator]

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