We met on the stone bridge,
the birches stood watch for us,
the river gleaming like an eel wound toward the sea.
We twisted together in order to create God,
there was a rustling in the grain,
and a wave shot out of the rye.
translated by Robert Bly
Yikes, that is good. However the original was wound up, the way Bly hits those two beat lines, then lets it uncoil in the middle and winds it back up again, is great.
Bly is both poet and translator. He goes for the meaning but can’t help, I think, giving it that extra touch of what it would have could have been like if written first in English.