îmi place poemul asta, so English, si imi plac si toate zgomotele care "croncane" în original (l-am gasit cu google), ceea ce e destul de greu de pastrat in traducere;

traducerea nu e rea, dar sint mici chestii: nu stiu daca palpitatii usoare e potrivit ptr "soft throbbings"; eu as pune ne-liniste in loc de ne-tacere, cu riscul de a adauga un sens nou; iar pasajul: "Luna e strălucitoare: aceeaşi lună, /ar trebui să cred, ca a mea din Anglia /sau a lor, în locurile în care eu nu sunt" pierde prin traducere farmecul de tac-o-tac al originalului, care are un ritm mult mai bun: "The moon is brilliant: the same moon,
I have to believe, as mine in England/ or theirs in the places where I'm not"    

Dear posterity, it's 2 a.m.
and I can't sleep for the smothering heat,
or under mosquito nets. The others
are swathed in theirs, humid and sweating,
long white packets on rows of chairs
(no bunks. The building isn't finished).

I prowled in the dark back room for water
and came outside for a cigarette
and a pee in waist-high leafy scrub.
The moon is brilliant: the same moon,
I have to believe, as mine in England
or theirs in the places where I'm not.

Knobbly trees mark the horizon,
black and angular, with no leaves:
blossoming flame-trees; and behind them
soft throbbings come from the village.
Birds or animals croak and howl;
the river rustles; there could be snakes.

I don't care. I am standing here,
posterity, on the face of the earth,
letting the breeze blow up my nightdress,
writing in English, as I do,
in all this tropical non-silence.
Now let me tell you about the elephants.

multumesc.
ma mai gandesc, de obicei nu vreau sa schimb f mult.