Econonomy of translation

I think she doesn’t live here anymore
the dropped drapes, dusty panes, the burnt bulb just
above the door – that goes to show you she’s probably
gone for good; I used to have a key though
yep, look, there’s some Moldavian wine left in the
fridge – so what did you say she used to do
for you, well she was my interpreter.

 
I used to give some lectures on the rare
uakaris – my way to chaff her since she had to trans
late all those horrid words, now something on the inte
rest rate swaps is what I’m up to; you see:
“these last nights felt like some unanswered prayers”
and then “the algae in the sky at dawn
brushed darkness off like ullage out of a wine casket.”
 
Yes, I see, the poetry collections in her book-case
seem like scattered lost acciaccaturas
on an obliterated score, the scars
on bulky dictionaries look much fresher.
 
You used to screw her? No, not anymore –
all yours now; take for instance ‘anodyne’:
tongues like hers sound like that, time and again
but the fun was that while for our ear it only means
alleviation in her language it
was lukewarm; the wine in your mouth is so coo