Trilce 77

Here is my translation:


So much hail falls, that I think
to multiply the pearls
gathered from the very jaws of
every tempest.

Don't even think of letting this rain dry up!
Unless it could be given to me to
fall for it, or they buried me
wet from the water bubbling up
from every fire.

How far will the rain follow me?
I'm afraid one flank will still be dry,
that it will leave me without having tested me
in the droughts of its awesome vocal cords
which for harmony always make us rise, not fall!
And aren't we always rising down?

Sing, rain, sing, in this still sea-less coast.

Here is one by Brotherson & Dorn, which I find a bit stilted:

It hails so much, as if I should recall
and increase the pearls
I've gathered from the very snout
of every storm

This rain must not dry.
Unless now I could fall
in her cause, or were buried
steeped in the water
which spouts from all fires.


How much will this rain get to me?
I fear I am left with a flank dry;
I fear it might break leaving me untried
in the drought of incredible vocal chords,
over which
to bring harmony
one must always rise, never descend!
Do we not rise downward?

Sing, rain, on the coast still without sea!