Passport Poetry

Here is the ending of a poem by Pia Tafdrup translated from the Danish by David McDuff.


The body is not national,
it passes easily into dreams
mountain ranges, rivers and oceans,
routes traced by swallows.
I want
the clouds’ passport
valid for travel to all countries and back.

This yearning reminds me that I voyage often by minute observation in my little circumspect area of the world. I want to watch the weathers come to me from many borders. Today I saw a tabby chase a squirrel.

And so for day 2944

This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.