Song Of The Withered Orange- Tree Poem by Tom Billsborough
Song Of The Withered Orange- Tree
Woodman. Cut my shadow.
Release me
From this torment
Of seeing myself barren.
Why was I born among mirrors?
The day revolves around me
And the night copies me
In each of her stars.
I wish to live, not seeing myself,
And I shall dream
That the ants and the hawks
Are my leaves and my birds.
Woodcutter. Cut my shadow.
Release me
From this torment
Of seeing myself barren.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/4/2024 8:06:30 PM # 1.0.0.1119
This is a fascinating poem. I read it twice before realizing you had done a translation and before I realized it was personified orange tree speaking. I must admit that I was excited when I first thought you had written it because it is such a unique and intriguing viewpoint provided by the speaker. I love how well rounded, well read, and multi-lingual you are. How awesome that you are doing all these translations. I can only imagine it makes your own writing better and I'm always amazed by the skill and creativity of the translator that dares to translate poetry. I am marking this poem as a favorite so I can return to it and think about it. I love that I just read it after reading a poem that Daniel Brick wrote about shadows...so now I have a theme for the day. Cut my shadow and release me from seeing myself barren...so...he wants to see himself but not barren or not see himself at all...or he feels barren? My feeling is that the speaker desires to be one with everything, one with the trees, the leaves, the ants...and when he sees his shadows or his image in a mirror, he realizes he is a separate part, immovable, unlike the ants and hawks. This is a WOW AMAZING poem that I will ponder on some more. Love it. Thanks for your hard work!
Dear Pamela, You have caught the essence of Lorca's poem perfectly. When I have a bit of time, I'll send you a copy of Lorca's famous article about the duende which describes the soul of art, the voice of Billie Holiday, and Elvis too, and the poetry of Lorca, a great Spanish dancer, the music of Bach. You highlight the essential tension between his desire and his reality. Anyone who thinks Elvis isn't there ought to hear his rendition of Danny Boy. Some day I'll attempt to translate one of his finest poems, which concerns the death of a Bullfighter friend. There is a line repeated again and again like the sounding of the funeral bell... As los cinco de la tarde At five in the afternoon. This was when his friend died. Tom