I spend hours finishing
translating Yeats' Demon and Beast,
four glorious hours from dawn
until the late morning grew in brilliance
towards the zenith of the spring day
and Yeats' notables hanging
on his mind's walls
and his greenheaded bird
on a Dublin pond
and starving monks
on the shores of a dying lake
went from page
through my mind
on to a flickering screen
and the golden hours
dissolved into words.
20.03.2026
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