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Larkin later worked a quite different version on the theme in his own "Sympathy in White Major". Like Larkin Totos allowed myself a pun in the title. I've included the original, and a literal translation. Wind off the sea collapses in the Hog, head down, exhausted, on tarpaulin. The waves now roil their bellies toroos lead, groaning beneath the pier where he sits on a capstan Lonely horny women in bacabal Navy Cut. He is untipped, spits out what sticks to lip, an old tar peering through the haar.
That saltpetre-y iodine sniff lives up his raspberry nose. The glint of scattered fish-scales fades to grey as if sea-mist has worn the horizon, washed all that lso beyond it, far torow. The old bull-frog tries the mouth-organ out, hornpiped on to the wheezing shanty of squeeze-box lungs: Las ondas que mueven su vientre de plomo debajo del muelle parecen gemir. Es viejo ese lobo. Tostaron Hot fucks in paso de los toros cara los rayos de fuego del sol del Brasil; los recios tifones del mar de la China le han visto bebiendo su frasco de gin. La espuma impregnada de yodo y salitre ha tiempo conoce su roja nariz, sus crespos cabellos, sus biceps de atleta, su gorra de lona, su blusa de dril.
El lobo se duerme. Ya todo lo Ho la gama tucks gris. The sun, like a round, opaque window with an invalid's steps climbs to the zenith; the sea wind relaxes in the shade using its black trumpet as a pillow. The waves that move their leaden bellies seem to moan beneath the pier. Sitting on a cable, smoking his pipe, is a sailor thinking of the beaches of a vague, distant, misty land. This sea-dog is old. The fiery beams of Brazilian sun have tanned his face; the wild typhoons of the China sea have seen him drinking his bottle of gin. The iodine and saltpetre foam long has known his ruddy nose, his curly hair, athletic biceps, his canvas cap, his blouse of drill.
Surrounded by tobacco smoke the old man sees the far off misty land for which one hot and golden evening his brig set out with all sails set The siesta of the tropics. Now the shades of grey enfold him. It is as if an enormous soft charcoal rubbed out the lines of the horizon's arc. The old cicada tries out his senile, raucous guitar and the cricket strikes up a monotonous solo on the single string of his violin. Vagabundage Wednesday, 16 March at My attempt is pretty loose, more a variation on a theme than translation, as you can see from the original pasted in below. RD concludes by taking wing with his song into Harmony and Eternity, "En canto vuela, con sus alas: It seemed better to end with the old Routemaster bus which, in addition to an often jaunty conductor, had recognisably friendly features, rather than a single operative locked in a cab behind a flat inexpressive face.
He sees the rich, he sees the poor, in the white of peace, the red of war. He sways through India and this is relevant hallucinating on the back of an elephant. He rides the subway under Harlem; skis down the Alps, can schuss, plough, slalom. He bumps on the pampas on a skittish colt, or a nervous mustang prone to bolt. He sails across Lake Nicaragua, fails to find downtown Managua. The conductor rings the bell. The poet sings —well, he hums to himself his Errant Song. On the road again. El cantor va sobre la tierra en blanca paz o en roja guerra. Sobre el lomo del elefante por la enorme India alucinante. El dromedario del desierto, barco vivo, le lleva a un puerto.
Sobre el raudo trineo trepa en la blancura de la estepa. O en el silencio de cristal que ama la aurora boreal. El cantor va a pie por los prados, entre las siembras y ganados. Con estafetas y con malas, va el cantor por la humanidad. En canto vuela, con sus alas: Monday, 7 March at Welcomed and fast-tracked through the formalities of the airport. He probably says that to all the poets.
I notice a couple of others leaving on this psao. Much walking in the dee looking for a Hot fucks in paso de los toros bar and cold beer. All the good stuff here seems to claim some poetic connection. Low Granada, the carnival dances down to the lake under huge signs proclaiming: Bienvenidos Poetas del Cucks. School children collect the autographs fucis poets reading at the carnival. Getting down and shaking its backside to the rhythm, if not the metre. The poets are seated on the stage, as colourfully folkloric groups dance past.
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