Puisi inggris
Late Afternoon at Point Reyes
Dunes simmer, bulrushes guard the gray gold emptiness
of the Pacific coast summer. I lounge face upward with
outstretched arms. Peace like the River Lethe
courses through my veins.
Slicing through the stillness, slicing the shore in two:
sudden scream of a tiny creature, a long piercing shriek.
Hawk soars upwards to the bluff holding in its talons
the captured titmouse. Blue-angel wings
circle atop a Monterey pine. There the hawk lands.
The shriek subsides to silence. Sun swelling over the horizon,
pregnant with fog, casts a bronze halo over the scene.
What strikes me about the creature’s cry is not the pain
of being clawed, shaken, nor the wonder of being taken up
in the hawk’s great flight.
What strikes me is the grief, the sense of failure.
The infant’s call to mother.
Turning over, running the sand through my hands, I think
it’s time to beat the encroaching dark.
On the path back, evening spreads its purple cloak.
I hear the titmouse whisper:
Hear me, stranger.
I am now called Hawk.
of the Pacific coast summer. I lounge face upward with
outstretched arms. Peace like the River Lethe
courses through my veins.
Slicing through the stillness, slicing the shore in two:
sudden scream of a tiny creature, a long piercing shriek.
Hawk soars upwards to the bluff holding in its talons
the captured titmouse. Blue-angel wings
circle atop a Monterey pine. There the hawk lands.
The shriek subsides to silence. Sun swelling over the horizon,
pregnant with fog, casts a bronze halo over the scene.
What strikes me about the creature’s cry is not the pain
of being clawed, shaken, nor the wonder of being taken up
in the hawk’s great flight.
What strikes me is the grief, the sense of failure.
The infant’s call to mother.
Turning over, running the sand through my hands, I think
it’s time to beat the encroaching dark.
On the path back, evening spreads its purple cloak.
I hear the titmouse whisper:
Hear me, stranger.
I am now called Hawk.
Dunes membara, bulrushes menjaga kekosongan emas keabu-abuan
musim panas pantai Pasifik. Aku duduk menghadap ke atas dengan
lengan terulur. Damai seperti Sungai Lethe
kursus melalui pembuluh darahku.
Mengiris melalui keheningan, mengiris pantai menjadi dua:
jeritan tiba-tiba dari makhluk kecil, jeritan menusuk panjang.
Elang melayang ke atas ke tebing yang menggenggam cakarnya
titmouse yang tertangkap. Sayap malaikat biru
lingkaran di atas pinus Monterey. Di sana elang mendarat.
Pekik mereda untuk diam. Matahari membengkak di cakrawala,
hamil dengan kabut, melemparkan halo perunggu di atas layar.
Apa yang mengejutkan saya tentang tangisan makhluk bukanlah rasa sakitnya
menjadi cakar, terguncang, atau takjub diambil
dalam penerbangan hebat hawk.
Apa yang mengejutkan saya adalah kesedihan, rasa gagal.
Panggilan bayi ke ibu.
Membalikkan, menjalankan pasir melalui tangan saya, saya pikir
saatnya untuk mengalahkan kegelapan yang mengganggu.
Di jalan kembali, malam menyebar jubah ungu.
Saya mendengar bisikan titmouse:
Dengarlah aku, orang asing.
Saya sekarang dipanggil Hawk.
Celeste Newbrough 
