Thursday, July 26, 2018

Borges / Tankas


by Jorge Luis Borges
Translated by Christopher Mulrooney

Borges / Tankas


High on the summit
the whole garden is moon,
golden moon.
Preciouser is the rub
of your mouth in the dark.

The voice of a bird
the shadows abscond with
has hushed.
You walk your garden.
Something, I know, you miss.

The alien goblet,
the sword once a sword
in other hands,
the street moon,
say, not enough?

Under the moon
a gold-and-dark tiger
looks at its claws.
Not knowing at dawn
they destroyed someone.

Sad the rain
on marble falls,
sad to be earth.
Sad not being days
of men, dream, dawn.

Not to have fallen
like the rest of my blood,
in battle.
At night in vain to be
the syllable counter.

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