Tomaz Salamun el poeta

The Loire Delta

I have more zest than a boat pushing

the sea aside, because it pushes it evenly.

I enjoy spasmodically. As if the sun would

be put out and be born again. For this is worth

getting addicted. To be able to be dragged out,

to be whipped as a kind of Christ. But engineers

who made the paw to the bridge, the girders,

don’t remain in history. They lack spasmodicality.

If my car would be thrown from the bridge

over Loire, or at least would be finely shaken,

I’d remember it. The hand’s move is always

the first one. And the opening of your little

mouth: yours, yours, yours, is always

the first thing, no matter the age.

translated by Brian Henry

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