I try to write a poem
Then recall great poets
Writing on similar themes,
And feel ashamed
My substance, words and images
Are so simple, mixed-up
I discard the effort.
After all, Imitation is slavish.
It is fear of not able
To write like Eliot, Hopkins or Keats.
‘Desiring this man’s art, or that man’s scope’:
I fondly ask 'Is it right to compare? '
I am unique, each is special,
As Touchstone, I wed my Audrey.
I write what is mine, refine it and leave it;
To read it or not, whether it will survive,
Where, and when, happens behind me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It can be fun and also a good exercise to write in the style of one of the classical poets. (I admit to having tried that as well) In the end though your own personal style will likely prove the one that will produce the poems with which you are happiest. Thanks for something different and thought provoking.