translation is not a crime

I made chive biscuits and coffee for dinner, because I have nothing against breakfast food at night. The biscuits were made with mix, but the chives were fresh from the green market; the coffee was Ethiopian.

Now, after I get a pillow for my butt's comfort on this metal folding job that's serving as my computer chair, I'm going to get to work. Having been faced with the surprisingly difficult job of translating my own poems to Finnish, I'm now trying to prove I can do it in a timely and accurate fashion. My sense is that they would be better if someone else did them, but as there's not enough time for that, I'm trying really really hard to do justice to myself. Finnish is such a rich and grammatically complex language that a rendering of basic English syntax often comes out sounding, well, simple. So I'm trying to vary it. But my lack of a college-level Finnish university education prevents me from having these things readily on hand, so I often have to ponder them extra hard. Also, translation is just bloody difficult; don't let anyone tell you any bullpucky about it being easy, unless that person is a resurrected Constance Garnett or has managed to somehow inhabit themselves with her ghost, which would be spooky indeed.