The Monsignor told me:
‘For you sing of so many
Similar things'
‘Ah, my friend,
The more things be similar
The more their present
Relative, all-time relative,
For always they were
On the genealogical tree
Always:
The more similar, the more
My friend
In almost all things.
I say almost to be modest.'
And the Monsignor stopped
And
Looked at me as the
Student at his Master
Looks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The monsignor adopts an ironic tone which often slides DOWN to sarcasm. But in this poem the obvious candor and austere honesty of the poet's response moves him with unexpected sympathy and he does not speak glibly but looks in admiration at the poet. It is a golden moment. I only hope the monsignor remembers this unusual reaction on his part. He doesn't have to give up his irony, we need that from him. But this show of sympathy is a blessed thing to be nourished and repeated.