Joan Miró
Translated By Mary Jo Bang & Yuki Tanaka
The wind’s tongue.
The always clear cobalt sky
bit at
your painting.
In a prehistoric poster
words doze like pebbles.
A gallop of feathers
kidnaps
the conversation between coarse ropes and wild beasts.
You paint within a blinking birthmark
the marriage of heaven and hell
faster
than tying a ribbon in a mirror.
Children’s playground.
From some rolling balls
one transparent ball flies off.
I call it Miró.
Translated from the Japanese
Source: Poetry (November 2014)