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 masks of tragedy hang in the halls of the fortunate

Hoping to mimic the tears of some far-gone person in some godforsaken place

Dressed in the poisoned cloak of Herakles

Crying like Aias cursed by the gods


Why am I a Faustus in a world of Mephistopheles

With eyes as blind as Oedipus the ill-begotten king,

With family as damned as Lear’s,

With a path as lost as a Loman?   

They slay a scapegoat and take a bow

With the stage blood and tears running through their leoparded beards

That hide the imbued melancholy

That must be the mixer in the paint of importance

In perpetuity.    


Language: German

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