"Everyone needs one untranslatable song." —Juarroz On hearing the striped contralto of guinea fowl, its mock opera quivers the parsley atop its head— The song makes its imprint in the air, making itself felt, a felt world. Here, there, the stunned silence of knowing I will not remember what I heard; futures that will never happen, a fluidity we cannot achieve except as a child creating possibility. This is the untranslatable song hidden in the earth.
From My Father and Miro by Claudia Reder. Copyright © 2001 by Claudia Reder. Published by permission of Bright Hill Press. All rights reserved.