This cat is getting old

Several months back
Even his shadow looked
Like a spirit to him.

His electric whiskers
detected everything:
Beetle,

housefly,
dragonfly,
Each had its own value.

Nowadays he spends his time
Snuggled up close to the brazier

When the dog sniffs at him
Or rats nip at his tail
He doesn't even care.

The world goes past his half-shut eye
Without stirring his interest.

Wisdom?
mysticism?
nirvana?
Surely all three
But mostly
timefritteredaway.

White with ashes his spine
Shows he's a cat
Whose place is beyond good or evil.

translated Hardie St. Martin
traducido Hardie St Martin

en: Antipoems: New and Selected (edited by David Unger), New York, New Directions, 1985.