There's A Moment When Love Makes You

Trees For Example, Carry The Memory Of Rainfal. In Their Rings We Read Ancient Weather - Storms, Sunlight And Temperatures, The Growing Seasons Of Centuries. A Forest Shares A History Which Each Tree Remembers Even After It Has Been Felled.

Love Makes You See A Place Differently, Just As You Hold Differently An Object That Belongs To Someone You Love. If You Know One Landscape Well, You Will Look At All Other Landscapes Differently. And If You Learn To Love One Place, Sometimes You Can Also Learn To Love Another.

Translation Is A Kind Of Transubstantiation; One Poem Becomes Another. You Can Choose Your Philosophy Of Translation Just As You Choose How To Live: The Free Adaptation That Sacrifices Detail To Meaning, The Strict Crib That Sacrifices Meaning To Exactitude. The Poet Moves From Life To Language, The Translator Moves From Language To Life; Both, Like The Immigrant, Try To Identify The Invisible, What's Between The Lines, The Mysterious Implications.

No One Is Born Just Once. If You're Lucky, You'll Emerge Again In Someone's Arms; Or Unlucky, Wake When The Long Tail Of Terror Brushes The Inside Of Your Skull.

I'm Naive Enough To Think That Love Is Always Good No Matter How Long Ago, No Matter The Circumstances.