Une traduction très approximative
Dear sullen girl, it is not possible always to translate poetry. Particularly nonlinear substance. For some ideas I substituted examples concrete instead of the concepts.
Here my best projectile, because you were enough pleasant to ask.
It is a raw translation of prose of some ideas which cannot really become English. But is approximate and it is of my heart:
Me, I want to be like Doreen Peri, and to live in Virginia and hang out in Charlottesville on the week-ends, and go to Monticello on my birthday. I'd like to have a little poetry bookstore off by a soundless shore of silence, to live the blues in a roadhouse off skyline drive, and get flowers in Roanoke, and bread and red wine and-- oooh! thou beside me in the wilderness!
Flowering Poesielektuere in an Alexandrian junction and Saturdays and a fireplace, framing the sun dancing on the tides. Ah! and I want to play the violin again and again like... like Stephane Grapelli adagios and pirouettes of the will... and fiddle like Laurie Anderson, and pick like Doc Watson, and jump and dance like Carlos Williams, naked before my mirror. A dance of Poesy and the do cinema-plays with Mike Nomad-like action accompanied by Dimitri Tomkin music, mixed with the light of quasars from yesteryear.
Mehr Licht! I would cry out like Goethe, yet my heart would be happy and serene. And I would smile muchly on Wednesdays. And laugh out loud on Friday afternoons.
Yea, I would like to eat salted water taffy and to read Blake after the orgy. Ahhh, yes! to read Blake after the orgy! And eat salted water taffy and rage and rage against the dying of the light. And drink some cappuccino and feel the rain on the terraces and slate roofs. Bam! Tornadoes in the wake of délire, and lightning from all sides scattering its portents!