The Truth Doesn't Care What We Think

The Shadow Past Is Shaped By Everything That Never Happened. Invisible, It Melts The Present Like Rain Through Karst.

Trees For Example, Carry The Memory Of Rainfal. In Their Rings We Read Ancient Weather - Storms, Sunlight And Temperatures, The Growing Seasons Of Centuries. A Forest Shares A History Which Each Tree Remembers Even After It Has Been Felled.

When A Man Dies, His Secrets Bond Like Crystals, Like Frost On A Window. His Last Breath Obscures The Glass.

Love Makes You See A Place Differently, Just As You Hold Differently An Object That Belongs To Someone You Love. If You Know One Landscape Well, You Will Look At All Other Landscapes Differently. And If You Learn To Love One Place, Sometimes You Can Also Learn To Love Another.

Translation Is A Kind Of Transubstantiation; One Poem Becomes Another. You Can Choose Your Philosophy Of Translation Just As You Choose How To Live: The Free Adaptation That Sacrifices Detail To Meaning, The Strict Crib That Sacrifices Meaning To Exactitude. The Poet Moves From Life To Language, The Translator Moves From Language To Life; Both, Like The Immigrant, Try To Identify The Invisible, What's Between The Lines, The Mysterious Implications.