Back home late, I find you
asleep, a curved sight
beneath the sheets. The sky is clear
and so it's very cold tonight.
With my bloodless hands
and icy feet I shouldn't dare
to lie down next to you (an uninvited
pause in your dream, reeking of drink).
The light from the fridge seems
warm in this climate, and I pitch
into the wordless message
you have left for me. A plate
of plums, and every one of them tastes
like a ripe compensation, very juicy,
sweet, an apology for something
that one admits to oneself, suddenly.
Translated by Hans-Christian Oeser and Gabriel Rosenstock
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I am admitting something right away: I prefer your variation to Williams's original. Williams wrote a kind of model poem for a new literary age by paring away all excess and sentimentality. What's left is just barely the essential and it expresses a naked truth. Your poem clothes that nakedness with context without losing the truth. It makes the relationship between the speaker and the sleeper much deeper and the truth of their rapport permeates your poem. Williams's speaker is just a ghost whereas yours has presence and personality. And I love the closing two lines which add flesh and feeling. to the speaker's identity. He knows there is something more to this small experience and he will have to deal with that unknown factor later. speaker's