reading poetry in different languages: aesthetic impressions
Spanish: juice dripping from your mouth as you bite into fresh fruit; honeyed skin incessantly kissed by the sun; long laughter and shadows of summer; a red rose on a bedside table in a white room, where a single petal falls; the silhouettes of lovers sitting at the end of a dock, everything the deepest blue.
French: a river running smooth as silk; pale mornings, watching cigarette smoke slip away like a scarf in the wind; a drink which singes your throat as it slips down into your core and warms you; hot tears stinging your face, then the cold water that washes them away; the agony of orgasm.
German: storm clouds rolling in; the fear of god in the eyes of painted sinners; a long black coat for hiding every secret; shoes clacking on a wooden floor; purple veins on eyelids; the dial tone ringing and ringing when no one is taking your call; an uncapped pen which has bled all over the page.
Irish Gaelic: a whip of raven black hair; lying awake with only the moon to console you; high sand dunes punctuated with brushstrokes of green, green grass; how a first kiss feels so bright, like walking on air; the crash of the ocean, always running into the soft limitless arms of the shore.
Pashto: pomegranates, always and always, and the way they open endlessly; a woman blossoming in front of herself; a purple sunset over mountaintops; children singing songs together under the shade of a fruit tree; a bucket splashing water over your feet; whispers in the dark, a taunting dialogue.