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This poem is taken from PN Review 131, Volume 26 Number 3, January - February 2000.

Four Mistranslated Sonnets Frank Kuppner

1. Hillhead

Snow is falling onto the travel agent's
and onto the pub beside it. All those places
that I have never been to, listed in the window
at temptingly keen prices! No use. No use.
They cost too much anyway, but that isn't really the point.
I would like to see the Greek islands, but not right now
when a stranger and deeper destination entices me.
I am going to a flat right at the top of this hill!
Three connected rooms. Three! Space enough
for the richest life. This slope which I have dealt with
hundreds of times in years gone by, without
for a moment suspecting its capacity for joy,
I now inspect with awe like a recent visitor to this planet.
For now I must start to make sense of tangled legends of my own.


2.

Merely sitting in the same room, talking to you,
...


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