All my older friends tell me
that as soon as my book is printed,
I must forget the distant United States
and sail in the opposite direction, to Chile,
the wealthiest nation of Latin America,
where every poet is published in Spanish.
The life of a verse, they insist, is found
in its original language, no matter how universal
the emotions.
Only a truly brilliant translator
can carry the glowing heart of a poem
from one word to another.
I am like a fish, my friends assure me
that can never be safely moved
from a freshwater tropical river
to any salty northern sea.