Blocked Writing.

I have been aflicted by the accursed writer's block. And I was looking at different things to do to get my brain working, and one caught my eye - not because it would help at all, but just because it was intriguing.

The instructions were to take a poem in English, go to babelfish.com, and translate it into another language. And then from that language to another, and from that to another, and finally from that back to English. I used one of my poems that I've posted on here because it was easy to get at, and I thought the results were interesting. I went from English, to Italian, to French, to Greek, back to English. And I figured I'd post the results here, because it's not like I'm doing anything better with my time anyway.


It is the region selvaggia –
Old, elementary and brioso,
Shaped nell' imagination, [antegmenos] dall' uterus.
Secrets and silent nights.
Lions, magics, guardaroba.
Féroces battles and precise loves.
All of did lighting tremble d' a candle.

It is the dust [karion] –
Exceptionally, GRASSETTO and exotique,
Past under the generation in the generation,
Been appreciated, agreeable and coveted.
Fertile meetings of family and feast.
Red, yellow, green
Old histories and traditions of old datum,
All of lighting constant d' a lamp.

It is the porcelain –
Fragile, fragile and anaesthetising,
Small king of ball,
Aspect, but no perceptible never.
Scoop dell' that are woven ivory and hair.
Tulle you engrave Wispy and peak soft pistons.
Open, in windowsill,
All of lighting his that [chaei] [deyo] only.

He is these of things,
In the form and shaped the memories.

I just found it interesting that every "I am of" changed to "It is the", until the end, where it became "He is these". Intriguing. And I thought it was funny that "womb" was replaced with "uterus", because uterus is on my list of words I don't like, and womb is on my like list.

Yes, I have lists of words I do and do not like. Pretend like you don't.

Anyone know how to cure writer's block?