Search, by Yannis Ritsos
Come in, Gentlemen -- he said. No inconvenience. Look through everything;
I have nothing to hide. Here's the bedroom, here the study,
here the dining-room. Here? -- the attic for old things;--
everything wears out, Gentlemen; it's full; everything wears out, wears out,
so quickly, too, Gentlemen; this? -- a thimble; -- mother's;
this? mother's oil-lamp, mother's umbrella -- she loved me enormously; --
but this forged identity card? this jewellery, somebody else's? the dirty towel?
this theatre ticket? the shirt with holes? blood stains?
and this photograph? his, yes, wearing a woman's hat covered with flowers,
inscribed to a stranger -- his handwriting --
who planted these in here? who planted these in here? who planted these in here?
translated by Nikos Stangos
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Jon Corelis www.geocities.com/jgcorelis/
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