From Carolyn to the List,
At Jansy's suggestion I checked the archives and found these marvelous lines which were grotesquely garbled by my miserable mnemoysene which I can't even spell. I do think this may well be the best thing VN ever wrote in English:
What is translation? On a platter
A poet's pale and glaring head,
A parrot's screech, a monkey's chatter,
And profanation of the dead.
The parasites you were so hard on
And pardoned if I have your pardon,
O Pushkin, for my strategem.
I traveled down your secret stem,
And reached that root, and fed upon it;
Then, in a language newly learned,
I grew another stalk and turned
Into my honest roadside prose -
All thorn, but cousin to your rose.