Lost in translation. That makes you tired.
Who hasn't had
this happen to them - a translation in a
hurry and quickly using the Google
translator...
An endless loop -
something else always comes out. Nothing
really hits what you want to say -
nothing hits the core message.
Yes, the
core. Let us talk about the key
message.
What did you actually
want to say again? That, too, is already
gone. What did I actually want to
express?
The core message of this year's Festival's Moto gets to the heart of the problem: we are all overloaded, overcharged. Too many thoughts - too many images in our heads. Our mind can no longer process them. The head eats itself up. Maybe I gave him this job - out of sheer desperation. But that is actually no longer important. The process of self-dissolution is already in full swing.
I eat my
head.
This is the state of
complete overload, of confusion, of not
being able to classify.
I, my mind,
my heart, my head, even my stomach can no
longer process - translate - all the
impressions of the world.
And
more and more are being added. More and
more messages that have a clear
instruction to me. More and more
responsibility, more and more decisions,
more and more urgent.
So what
remains of my head when I have eaten it?
But language is the tricky:
Before devising, your chicken you do
not have to count.
As for the penny
which is rescued it is the penny which
is obtained.
The girl and the spice
has become entirely from the splendid
sugar.
The boy has consisted of the
tail of the slug and the snail and the
puppy.
As for the place of the woman
there is a house.
One basket your egg
everything does not have to be made.
The idiot hurries being about you fear
because the angel steps on.
Your cake
cannot do possessing and is eaten thing.
There is no wastefulness, unless so is,
we want.
The safe which is better
than regrettable.
Living, you have
lived, permit.
Bevor Sie
Ihr Huhn erfinden, brauchen Sie nicht zu
zählen.
Was den Pfennig betrifft, der
gerettet wird, ist es der Pfennig, der
erhalten wird.
Das Mädchen und das
Gewürz ist ganz aus dem prächtigen
Zucker geworden.
Der Junge hat sich
aus dem Schwanz der Schnecke und der
Schnecke und dem Welpen zusammengesetzt.
Was den Platz der Frau betrifft, so gibt
es ein Haus.
Ein Korb deines Eies
alles muss nicht gemacht werden.
Der
Idiot beeilt sich, um dich zu fürchten,
weil der Engel auftritt.
Dein Kuchen
kann nicht besessen werden und wird
gegessen.
Es gibt keine
Verschwendung, es sei denn, so ist, wir
wollen.
Das Sichere, das besser ist
als das Bedauernde.
Leben, das du
gelebt hast, erlaube.
Peter Pereira,
"Lost in Translation" from What's
Written on the Body (Copper Canyon
Press, 2007).
www.coppercanyonpress.org
source:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51117/lost-in-translation
