Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Mihalis Katsaros-Dorians (1953)


I could, of course, stand first
amidst the armed Dorians,
dressed in their much admired garb
like him who posed in a museum
frozen in place -- reminiscent of glorious waterfalls--
I could, of course,
and not by chance.

But what good would that do to our case
all of my grandeur
all of my shouting inside the walls?

The rivers would encircle my margins
my hopes, old cheap trinkets --
pretending to be an atheist and a destroyer
I, the most honest youth, dream-laden
the warm Andalusian
locked inside these terrible irons of armor.

For this, I remained in rags,
as the French Revolution bore me
as the emancipation of blacks bore me
as you bore me, mother Spain
a dark conspirator.

They understood it first --
their iron hands were telling prayers
they occupied one city after the next
they shut the gates
the stone commands were being paraded in litanies
until in the end, they forgot about me.

And now -- beyond the troops
I look at the glorious city
which lies lazily, whore and dynamite
I look at this city that has been surrounded by citadels
the one who bore me and has no name any more
has no fire burning--
I look and I raise my voice like a beast
so that maybe they hear me.

The movement inside our walls is important.

From Against Sadduceans, transl. Lenin Reloaded.

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