| [Read first down each column, then again row by row across columns.] |
||
| A Way of Waving |
Translated from the English
Wavering Away |
|
| A snake slithers | Like ribbons fluttering | |
| across blacktop | at the ends of handlebars | |
| then ungrips its skin | molted when fledged | |
| at the shrugged shoulder | to the shed. | |
| Night crawler escapes | Like cassette tapes, | |
| from flooded turf | Play pressed, | |
| to be impaled and | rewound and | |
| plunged into deep water | unspooled by appetite. | |
| Vines creep up trunk and branch, | Like telltales on shrouds | |
| grope into air | flail from windward | |
| blindly indicating | to reveal the direction | |
| into empty space | where you cannot directly sail. | |
| Seaweeds sway | Like how ocular floaters | |
| in tidal pools | of vitreous humor, | |
| sniggering against a snorkel mask | occluding sea and air, | |
| while breaths squeeze through a tube, |
inspire through averted vision. | |
| V formation of migrating geese | Like my migraine aura, | |
| with pulsating wings | a corona borealis flickering | |
| slides overhead | from fovea to periphery | |
| toward the horizon, | is a benediction from God. | |
| A snail ventures out | Like how my GPS wristwatch | |
| during full-moon night | under satellite sky | |
| leaves a trail of ooze | records my position every other second, |
|
| shimmering in starlight from unnamed constellations |
life’s legacy of disconnected dots. |
|
John K. KruschkeFirst published in
Cold
Mountain Review, Spring & Summer 2026, May 08.
Notes: Nature waving on the left, human nature wavering away on the right, reflecting each other when read across columns.
Regarding the format: When reading a poetry journal that presented English translations beside originals in languages I don’t know, I realized that the translator could write anything, and I’d have no way of knowing whether it matched the source. I was also piqued by the heading that appeared above them: “Translated from the Chinese” (or whatever the language). So I imagined a genre of poems called “Translated from the English” in which the translation is a free-association based on the original, such that each enriches the other. I added one essential rule: the pieces must be contrapuntal, reading coherently and generating emergent meaning when scanned row by row across columns; otherwise they’d just be two parts of a single poem.
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