domingo, 3 de julho de 2011

Do not become PREDESTINED

Let waves of birds over the rigging of the lemon tree
With the steady white blast of a new way of walking
And then the angels of the wind shall come
in body like swans which are immaculate, soft, unchanging
Among the streamrollers of the emporia and cyclones of the market-gardens
When women's eyes turned to coals
and the chestnut sellers broke their hearts
When the harvest was over and the hopes of the cricket began.

And because of this I would have you, young men,
To go down naked into the rivers
With wine and kisses and leaves in your mouth
To sing of Barbary
as the carpenter follows the track of the wood's grain

As the viper moves out from the gardens of the barley
With her proud eyes furious
And as the strokes of the lightning thresh the young

And do not laugh, do not cry, do not be glad
Do not lace your shoes up wrong as if you were planting a plane tree
Do not become PREDESTINED
Because the golden eagle is not a drawer locked up
It is not the tear of a wild plum
nor the smile of a water-lily
Nor the vest of a dove nor a sultan's mandolin
Nor a silken hat for the head of a whale
It is the sea's hacksaw cutting gulls in pieces
It is the pillow of a carpenter, is the beggar's watch
Is fire in a forge mocking vicar's wives, and singing lilies to sleep
It is the relationship by marriage to the Turks, is a fiesta of Australians
Is a den of thieves in Hungary
Where the hazel trees go secretly to meet in autumn

Nikos Gatsos, Amorgos, Sally Purcell (trad.), Anvil Press Poetry, 1998

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