Tasos Livaditis – Poems, Volume II




A lot of these things, of course, or one part of the room

are imaginary since man prefers to be always sad and

don’t give me a hard time, I choose to be poor out

of respect (let us not to include all the Sundays);

      though now I recuperate or iron old receipts or

I light the gas heater or I stand outside the Observatory

                 begging for some rain.

When it rains they all vanish and no one can see you

or better, I hold a newspaper so I don’t scare

                  the shadows,

and I always maintain my correspondence regarding

                   faraway issues;

it’s simple: you sit at the steps of the bridge in spite

of all dignity and finally it always appears, since

I had the strength not to defend myself, only just

a bit quieter, my God keep it a bit quieter,

and not that all these futile days ended.

I pretended to be indifferent while, on the side of my

eyes I observed the slip that lurks under the carpet,

however how can they see us clearly; us who search

                   for God

and this phrase is so good I must make a note of it;

and let every opportunist who insists my mother died

go to hell while I, each evening, sit quietly in the garden;

      therefore I managed to live half of each day since I

was often all alone and again the victim or I was

chased by the milkman even after the nightmare

although they didn’t care for this which was a fantastic

indulgence like the smell of a drawer that is our most

personal history or like a lamp in an empty room is

the only witness of the deluge and no one will ever

find out why I sit here, behind this door for years,

wrapped with the bed cover, hiding my clumsy foot

that led me out of the world.


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