Spring Towards Evening
Now there is a bridge and embankment,
traffic signals and the iron railway.
Poplars, a river and layers
of air and hills. Row would Hobbema
have tamed this chaos, which way
would the cows have ambled to the water ?
We would have had the back view
of a peasant leaning on a staff,
or a sentimental landscape connoisseur.
Thistles, petrified ferns, so
there’s a spine carved in a rock;
eyes filled with lava of fear,
the whistle of metal, therefore stars tremble,
a twig breaks - they’re on the tracks,
so you lie naked in the darkened thickets.
Translated by Adam Czerniawski
Page(s) 15
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