I’ve been to three minds
and twenty snowy mountains
as a tree with three
blackbirds moves in the
autumn wind whirled with small mimes.
A man and woman:
I am one. A man
and woman and a blackbird:
I am one. I know
what you want: beauty
of inflection and beauty
of cues, the blackbird
whistling “Teddy”
and the long icicles of
l’ombra del merlo.
It’s gone back and forth,
a vidrio barbaro
mood described in the
shade, the thin cause of
indecipherable birds.
Haddam, know-golden,
noble, imagine
the blackbird walking the walk,
understand accents,
inescapable
women, clearer rhythms; I
know the blackbird is
involved. How do I
know? When the blackbird flew out
of sight he scored clubs
from a crew of green
pimps, the perforated edge
of a glass fear. The
float of time has been
modified. Fly, euphony!
The moving river
is looking at the
same blackbirds snowing, and the
thirteenth century
cried all afternoon
in Connecticut, evening
going among snow
as the blackbird sat
in snow shadow, cried in art
shadow of cedar.
[via Italian-Romanian-Swedish-Spanish-Slovak, Bing translator]
Tags: blackbird, haiku, poetry, translation
The Book of Haiku Revelation 