WEBVTT

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I'll read you one poem from
the section of translations.

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Short one.

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[NO AUDIO]

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Oh, perhaps this one.

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It's called "December Venice".

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Upended under the sea of forest
supports the decaying city,

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which once was a place
of levies, of spices,

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of a great fleet, of a lean
and haughty countenance cast

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in somber gold.

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Place of genius, of
war, of savage prisons.

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The chill trees robed
in salt and blackness

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uphold the squalor, the marvel.

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The city is sliding
towards its death.

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In its piazzas, gray birds
look for the long ago leaves.

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The poet's name is Jean Joubert.

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