Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume III


I don’t want to hear anything, he says, look

I shut my ears, I watch your lips, I can’t tell

which word they form. The zero isn’t a circle,

it’s a square like the table. The unheard, truly,

is fleshy and red. My ears turn red because

of what I don’t hear. Now whatever I hear

is red. I will never speak again.



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