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.
My father bought us one of those fitness-watches—
The ones with the app—
To ensure that we would be walking every day we were waking.
Prior to this
He had been waltzing around the neighborhood with the watch bought by his own father and mother
Like the kid with the light-up shoes
Showing everyone his new gadget and all of its bells.
The goal, by default, was
10,000
Which I could never do on a normal day
Or even a special day
Due to the amount of time I am in the car
And on the computer
So I set it to a moderate goal:
8,000.
Even with expectations set to t.v. movie levels,
I still did a Stephen-King-adaptation performance
With the excess of cheese in my system
And contrived connections between events.
“Maybe if I walk in a jaunty way I will get more steps.”
“Maybe if I walk 2 feet to the left I will get more steps.”
When the night comes and he asks “How many?”
I will have to say 6,000 on a good day
And even 1,500 on a bad day.
I work hard
(I think)
And I try
(I think)
To be ambulatory as much as I can
But at least I don’t have to eat liver.
Language of Origin: Finnish
;
