January 22nd, 2016

Babelfishing Poetry: "Cruel Seawater"

Babelfishing Poetry: "Cruel Seawater"

Hello! You well? I hope so; well and happy.  I've been struggling with a flare-up of severe exhaustion, heart palpitations and brain fog this week, spending more time than usual bedridden.  But in spite of that I've managed to put together this week's installment of Babelfishing poetry, where I take song lyrics, run them through an on-line translator such as (but not necessarily) Babelfish, massage the punctuation a bit, and wind up with a quirky kind of poem.

Originally written by Bob Nolan in 1936, "Cool Water" is an apt song this week due to all the welcome rain we've been getting here in California (listen to the Sons Of The Pioneers sing it here, or listen to Frankie Laine's impassioned rendition here, or listen to Odetta's lyrical, introspective interpretation here, or watch video of Riders In The Sky ham it up with the song here, or listen to Joni Mitchell's sophisticated arrangement, duetting with Willie Nelson, here).  Pop open an umbrella and enjoy. 

Cruel Seawater

Per overcast, my day, rough, barren.
Cold water in the water, there is a rather long way.
Burned an ancient tan, dried a drying
bark-water spirit.
Cruel seawater.

We directed sum in a warm autumnal Japanese night.
All the swimming pool water is a star.
602 cold Thai water.
However, North Korea tiptoe; come, early brilliance, come.
This water,
like an avant-garde.

In Dell, earthquakes began.
Water, use water in the temple day and night, color advertising.
The Tao of prayers, your blood.
There are two sleeping members.
Clean water and cold water clean-up.

3 pan head, other aid may be requested.
Guy face,
next to the sea and the warm deployed sand.
You know all the bitey Bush, have you seen him?
Where is the water capacitor loss?
I then transferred the natural fire.
Water, thick rod, end of water.

Water, cold water, an avant-garde, finished.
Water, it's out of this world, crystal clear water.
Water, pines and cold pale.