Today's prompt is to translate a foreign language poem according to what you think the words mean...
I flicked through a volume of Charles Baudelaire, but found that I couldn't look at the French without translating it! Then same with Pablo Neruda's Spanish poems. So I chose an Irish poem by Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill (at random) then, only one verse, with extremely bizarre results:
An Ollmháthair Mhór - Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill
Maighdean is máthair, a bhuime, a bhuama adamhaigh,
tálfaidh tú orainn leacht ciardhubh do bhainne cín;
brúchtfaidh tú deannach an bholcáin aníos ó do scornach;
rúscfaidh tú boladh an dóite ó íochtar do chroí.
Oh My Other More
Morning is my other, a beam, a buoyancy always
talking to orange locked curtains or a bottled sun;
breakfast to dinner and balking instead of scorn;
rusty bolt of doubt inside cringes.