Our Lost Girl (without M. E. N)

translated from Pablo Neruda

If forthwith you lack quiddity,
if forthwith you fail to last,
I shall last.

This boy’s pluck fails,
His author’s pluck scripts squat about it,
If you pass away,

I shall last.

For if, about a locality, a boy’s vocal is lost,
this boy’s vocal is about that locality,

About a spot at which blacks attract assaults
This boy’s duty is to last.
At hours that bros of this boy go to jail
I shall go with such bros.

At hours of glory,
hours of big glory for all,
This boy’s duty is to pull out this boy’s lost vocal;
I shall spot it
though this boy’s visuals fail.

Scratch that, I pray for charity,
If you fail to last,
if you, this boy’s pick, this boy’s idol,
if your story is all told,
all such florals will fall to such lows of this boy’s thoracic,
it will drip drops through this boy’s soul at all hours,
such blizzard will scorch this boy’s cardiovascular part,
I shall walk with frost plus hot lava plus loss plus blizzard,
this boy will wish to walk to such locality of your torpor, but
I shall last,
for atop all stuff
you sought this boy’s stickability,
also, top girl of this boy, for you grasp that this boy outstrips just a boy
as this boy is all boys.

A Girl Waits for This Boy (without M.E.N.)

translated from Walt Whitman

A girl waits for this boy, a girl who holds all, without lack,
Although, all is lack without biology, or if such fluid of
this right boy was lost.

Biology holds all: torsos plus various parts, souls,
Gists, proofs, truths, titbits, upshots, broadcasts,
Carols, fiats, vitality, brass, our prototypical obscurity, our
vital fluid,
All goals, supports, gifts, all such thirsts, ardours,
divas, joys of this world,
All such authority, adjudicators, gods, pillars of this
world,
All this is part of biology, part of its avowal of its quality.

Without guilt a boy I favour grasps his
luscious biology,
Without guilt a girl I favour grasps such luscious biology as falls
to a girl.

Forthwith I will discard stolid girls,
I will go stay with a girl who waits for this boy, plus with such
girls that hold copious hot-blood.
I grasp that such girls grasp what I say plus stay loyal,
I grasp that such girls pass all trials I put forward, I will sturdily
haul such girls to altars.

Such girls flash as brightly as I do,
Such girls wax facially ruddy with day’s light plus gusts of air,
Such bodily pulp is willowy plus solid as a god,
Such girls float, row, rally, fight, shoot, trot,
hit, go back, go forward, baulk, thwart attacks,
Such girls surpass all—placid, cool,
puffed up with lot of skills.

I draw you cosy, you girls,
I hold you tight, I would do you good,
I fit with you as you fit with this boy, for us plus
for lots of folks.
Your body cloaks high-class idols plus bards, all torpid,
who shirk all touch as could disturb this torpor,
All bar such touch as I gift.

It is I, you girls, I walk this path,
harsh, acrid, full, rigid, but I worship you,
I hurt you just up till I ought to hurt you,
I pour such stuff to start kids fit for such
disarrays, I push with slow, vulgar vigor,
I gird this boy good, I audit zilch suits,
I will stay till I drop what has built up
gut-stuck, fruitful.

Through you I flush such shut up flows of this boy,
I cloak you for a chiliad birthdays,
I graft you with grafts of this popular boy plus of this
USA,
Such drops I distil about you shall grow brutal plus sporty
girls, hip artists, virtuosos, plus bards,
Such kids I grow with you will grow kids gradually,
I shall call for foolproof boys plus girls out of this boy’s squirty ardour,
I shall call for folks to thrust with folks, as I plus
you thrust forthwith,
I shall trust to such fruits of such gushy cloudbursts of folks, as
I trust to such fruits of such gushy cloudbursts I put out forthwith,
I shall look for cordial crops to grow out of such birth, vitality, loss,
godhood, that I sow so cordially forthwith.

Cathy Dreyer is a poet and critic.