By Thomas Page

The Untranslatable

This is a series of poems of words that do not directly translate into English. I have tried to capture the essence of the word in a poem.


The clouds sit above

landscapes embroidered with lace

Of perennials

That may never lie

In the waters of the Lethe.

The world keeps turning

To the arias

Of birds and the pianos

Of the hunter and

The crescendos of

Prey in the tune of forte—

Staccato with fangs.

The most vulnerable

Beast, awestricken with it all,

Hides itself in stone,

Dreaming of the time

When it felt the comfort of

Joyful, stoneless air.


Language: Japanese

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