By Daniel Leach
A Response to a Translation
The lovesong of the nightingale in the tree
revives no romance in me.
No, all I hear is my heart screaming foul
to every shot that made us be,
to the irremediable swindle, the callous cheat,
the injustice, and mechanical cruelty.
The terse post-romanticism of this reminds me of Philip Larkin.
Larkin was a strong writer, so I'm glad my ditty reminded you of him. I've dedicated a few ditties to him. He was somewhat on my wavelength.
A Response to a Translation
The lovesong of the nightingale in the tree
revives no romance in me.
No, all I hear is my heart screaming foul
to every shot that made us be,
to the irremediable swindle, the callous cheat,
the injustice, and mechanical cruelty.
The terse post-romanticism of this reminds me of Philip Larkin.
Larkin was a strong writer, so I'm glad my ditty reminded you of him. I've dedicated a few ditties to him. He was somewhat on my wavelength.