have the right to warm the nights of beautiful women, and talk about
what might shorten the night of two strangers waiting for the North to reach the compass.
It’s autumn. We have the right to smell autumn’s fragrances and ask the night for a dream.
Does the dream, like the dreamers themselves, sicken? Autumn. Autumn.
Can a people be born on a guillotine?
We have the right to die any way we wish.
May the earth hide itself away in an ear of wheat!
The Last Train Has Stopped
The last train has stopped at the last platform. No one is there
to save the roses, no doves to alight on a woman made of words.
Time has ended. The ode fares no better than the foam.
Don’t put faith in our trains, love. Don’t wait for anyone in the crowd.
The last train has stopped at the last platform. But no one
can cast the reflection of Narcissus back on the mirrors of night.
Where can I write my latest account of the body’s incarnation?
It’s the end of what was bound to end! Where is that which ends?
Where can I free myself of the homeland in my body?
Don’t put faith in our trains, love. The last dove flew away.
The last train has stopped at the last platform. And no one was there.
On the Slope, Higher Than the Sea, They Slept
On the slope, higher than the sea, higher than the cypresses, they slept.
The iron sky erased their memories, and the dove flew away
in the direction of their pointing fingers, east of their torn bodies.
Weren’t they entitled to throw the basil of their names on the moon in the water?
And plant bitter orange trees in the ditches to dispel the darkness?
They sleep beyond the limits of space, on a slope where words turn to stone.
They sleep on a stone carved from the bones of their phoenix.
Our heart can celebrate their feast in nearly no time.
Our heart can steal a place for doves to return to earth’s bedrock.
O kin sleeping within me, at the ends of the earth: peace be unto you! Peace.
He Embraces His Murderer
He embraces his murderer. May he win his heart: Do you feel angrier if I survive?
Brother . . . My brother! What did I do to make you destroy me?
Two birds fly overhead. Why don’t you shoot upward? What do you say?
You grew tired of my embrace and my smell. Aren’t you just as tired of the fear within me?
Then throw your gun in the river! What do you say?
The enemy on the riverbank aims his machine gun at an embrace? Shoot the enemy!
Thus we avoid the enemy’s bullets and keep from falling into sin.
What do you say? You’ll kill me so the enemy can go home to our home
and descend again into the law of the jungle?
What did you do with my mother’s coffee, with your mother’s coffee?
What crime did I commit to make you destroy me?
I will never cease embracing you.
And I will never release you.
Winds Shift against Us
Winds shift against us. The southern wind blows with our enemies. The passage narrows.
We flash victory signs in the darkness, so the darkness may glitter.
We fly as if riding the trees of a dream. O ends of the earth! O difficult dream! Will you go on?
For the thousandth time we write on the last breath of air. We die so they do not prevail!
We run after the echo of our voices. May we find a moon there.
We sing for the rocks. May the rocks be startled.
We engrave our bodies with iron for a river to billow up.
Winds shift against us. North wind with southern wind, and we shout: Where can we settle?
We ask mythical women for relatives who would rather see us dead.
An eagle settles on our bodies, and we chase after dreams. May we find them.
They soar behind us to find us here. There is no escape!
We live our death. This half-death is our triumph.
Neighing on the Slope
Horses’ neighing on the slope. Downward or upward.
I prepare my portrait for my woman to hang on a wall when I die.
She says: Is there a wall to hang it on?
I say: We’ll build a room for it. Where? In any house.
Horses’ neighing on the slope. Downward or upward.
Does a woman in her thirties need a homeland to put a picture in a frame?
Can I reach the summit of this rugged mountain? The slope is either an abyss or a place of siege.
Midway it divides. What a journey! Martyrs killing one another.
I prepare my portrait for my woman. When a new horse neighs in you, tear it up.
Horses’ neighing on the slope. Upward, or upward.
Other Barbarians Will Come
Other barbarians will come. The emperor’s wife will be abducted. Drums will beat loudly. Drums will beat so that horses will leap over human bodies from the Aegean Sea to the Dardanelles. So why should we be concerned? What do our wives have to do with horse racing?
The emperor’s wife will be abducted. Drums will beat loudly and other barbarians will come. Barbarians will fill the cities’ emptiness, slightly higher than the sea, mightier than the sword in a time of madness. So why should we be concerned? What do our children have to do with the children of this impudence?
Drums
