Modern Poetry in Translation

The plasticine army
Marches off to war
The plasticine band
Sounds the attack
The plasticine cavalry
Advances in two rows
Towards the enemy lines
The horses are panting
The plasticine enemy
Dig in behind the hill
The drummer beats his drum
With his matchstick drumsticks
The plasticine cannons roar
The plasticine cannon balls
Hit the chest of drawers
And end up as flat as a pancake

The plasticine armies meet
In hand-to-hand combat
Then in a split second
Everyone has frozen to a stop.
Everyone stock still
All the same time.
These soldiers aren’t fighting
Because they want to,
They’re plasticine men
Made from a ball of
Plasticine.

Plasticine wars
All end this way:
A split second:…
…frozen-to-the-spot
And then into their box
Asleep in each other’s arms
Yesterday’s enemies
Tomorrow’s
Cats, pigs, dogs
And dolls’ dinners,
And wedding cakes.