In plain words
The poet, of the hill Gōvardhana: The hill my Father, the Lord who once took the form of a boar, pulled up like a clod of earth and lifted, as if to say, You who dwell in the heavens, if you are strong, I challenge you: come and take it from me! That hill, where a rutting forest elephant that has lost a tusk raises its trunk, ichor streaming from the broken socket, and stands gazing upward, wanting the curved crescent moon for its tusk, is Gōvardhana, the victorious umbrella.