THE GATE
(Excerpt 8)
I listened to the building of the Gate. Then I
understood, Vlassis said,
that I wasn’t missing. I understood I wasn’t alone;
I felt it, I was the little finger of the big right hand
that held tightly the spade, the hammer, the steel,
the arm, the mast, the neck.
I too
gave nothing to death
all I had I gave to life
I had justified demands
I never accepted the crooked
I have never being more serious than needed
I never hid my awe; oh oh, I shouted,
ah, ah I went as if they pierced my ribs
I scratched my nose, I sneezed, I yelled hurrah
I yelled hurrah again
I incised, with my thumb, our name on the bark
of trees or walls
if I wanted to try hard enough I could fly
I know well the secrets of birds and silence
I chose the earth; I sit on the warm soil
I share their fate, I endure it
I said, yes and red
when it was proper I said no to others and
to myself
I have the stained hat of Lenin, a toothbrush,
a comb
I, using brick clay, mould water pitchers, pots,
statues
I, using oleander branches, create baskets
for eggs or apples
I write poems for young and old, for the dead
and the unborn
I work
I sleep just a little, I have no time
I work overtime
I fell in love, I was loved, I love and I’m loved
I work, I work
I’m just a human, I mean
Vlassis, sitting by the window, said all this.
He stooped and tied one of his shoelaces.
A drop fell on his shoe. It wasn’t raining.
The justifiably proud man of our days; we listened
to him.
We believed in him even when he spoke internally.
We loved him. We greeted him, he greeted us and,
with one of his fingers, he shook the dust off
his knee.
Greetings to all of you, he said again.
Libros Libertad 