Peter Poulsen (en anglais)

Peter Poulsen

A sorrow never complete,

A despair never absolute!

The apple blossoms

In the modest orchards of the North

Know nothing of how women wielded the noble kaiken dagger

But, smiling, celebrate

Their innocent nuptials

With the floating purity of the sky.

O Poet of disquiet,

Emancipator of the spirit,

How difficult it is to pass through

The tortuous labyrinth

Of memory, our infinity!

We like to walk, Peter,

On the high ground of repentance

And live beyond the horizons

Of the calendar!

We move forward towards the brightness of the gods

With the days which question

The wisdom of the thistles

That grow on both sides

Of the road,

While the melodious swallow

Discretely espouses the cause

Of exhausted souls.

Peter, my Friend,

It’s not true

That there is no hope

In Sophocles’ tragedies!

Translated into English by Norton Hodges