Nothing can be forced to live.
The earth is like a drug now, like a voice from far away,
a lover or master. In the end, you do what the voice tells you.
It says forget, you forget.
It says begin again, you begin again.

from March by Louise Gluck

Untitled Pantun Berkait

Anonymous

Butterflies sport on the wing around,

They fly to the sea by the reef of rocks

My heart has felt uneasy in my breast,

From former days to the present hour.

They fly to the sea by the reef of rocks,

The vulture wings its flight to Bandan

From former days to the present hour,

Many youths have I admired.

The vulture wings its flight to Bandan

Dropping its feathers at Patani,

Many youths have I admired,

But none to compare with my present choice.

His feathers he let fall at Patani,

A score of young pigeons,

No youth can compare with my present choice.

Skilled as he is to touch the heart.

Translated by William Marsden, 1812

From McSweeney’s “Vikings, Monks, Philosophers, Whores” 2009