To the Taiga On the wreck of a sledge, In sable or in cocked hat - Are the rich as well as the respectable and pathetic - They run Into the unexplored thicket, - Somebody more seldom, somebody more often, - Into wolves’ caves, in bear lairs, There stands, Like a tired boxer, A centureold grenadier With a twofold, with a threefold girth and more. And I Eat air, chew, swallow, - Yes I am usually only here Behind bars of woods - but in freedom!
© Elisabeth Jelinek. Translation, 2018