Poetry Analysis

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In Ancient Kotmale

Original Poetry

Translation

In the beautiful principality, in Kotmale

In Ancient Kotmale

I will build my house of the good soil’s brick

With the timber of the ringing forests,

In the beautiful principality, in Kotmale

And I will cover it with the tiles flat,

I will build my house of the good soil’s brick

One on one, as the palms of the farmers –

With the timber of the ringing forests,

And I will cover it with the tiles flat,

And in the morning will I see

One on one, as the palms of the farmers –

The sun wounded as my heart with a million arrows,

Rise between the mountain ranges

And in the morning will I see

And spread in the green valley its golden blood.

The sun wounded as my heart with a million arrows,

Rise between the mountain ranges

And I will go into the fields in the seasons –

And spread in the green valley its golden blood.

I will sow the grain, a stream between my hands,

I will cast the grain in falling nets,

And I will go into the fields in the seasons –

And it will stream up round the calves of maidens

I will sow the grain, a stream between my hands,

From the viridian fire of that clay.

I will cast the grain in falling nets,

And it will stream up round the calves of maidens

And in the kilns of my sun-wed fields,

From the viridian fire of that clay.

And under the haven of passing clouds

As I repose, in those almost everlasting days,

And in the kilns of my sun-wed fields,

In the time ordained, in green calendars

And under the haven of passing clouds

Will come my yearned harvest.

As I repose, in those almost everlasting days,

In the time ordained, in green calendars

Will come my yearned harvest.

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