Had I Only
Lacking languages I stumble
in the darkness of translation
finding satisfaction second-hand
Here is Cavafy soft-spoken subtle
speaking free of affectation
or so it seems in this translation
said to be exemplary by many
But the curtain of my ignorance
keeps me from truly knowing him
nor is his work the sole example
When I can I read their words
en face glean what shreds I’m able
but surely this mongrel apprehension
will affect the way I think
about my native English
and eccentrically alter my expression
Have I not joked with mordant humor
that my poetry reads as if translated
from one of those selfsame languages
that will not let me in
Once I thought if I were given
my life to undertake again
I’d spend my second chance pursuing
those women known this time only
in the pale fantasy of admiration
But what would I say to them
and honestly what would it matter
to me whose cravings are Cavafy’s Greek
Vallejo’s Spanish the German of Celan
Tsvetayeva’s Russian Pessoa’s Portuguese
Bengali of Tagore Czech of Seifert
For as much as I have desired women
I desire more to seduce the languages of those
who touched me through translation’s rustling veil
Too late I see my life’s great error
3/l9-3/28/97
Copyright 1997 by Maurice Leiter
Posted with permission.
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