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Poem	And we shall not get excited. Because a translator May not get excited. Calmly, we shall pass on Words from man to son, from one tongue To others' lips, un- Knowingly, like a father who passes on The features of his dead father's face To his son, and he himself is like neither of them. Merely a mediator. We shall remember the things we held in our hands That slipped out. What I have in my possesion and what I do not have in my possession. We must not get excited. Calls and their callers drowned. Or, my beloved Gave me a few words before she left, To bring up for her. And no more shall we tell what we were told To other tellers. Silence as admission. We must not Get excited.
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