Orestes ( excerpt)
The unfortunate woman finally stopped. It’s as if
I hear her right in her silence — so unprotected
in her anger, so unjustly treated, with her bitter
hair on her shoulders like the grass of a grave, enclosed
in her narrow justice. Perhaps she fell asleep, perhaps
she dreams of an innocent place with innocent animals
with whitewashed houses, with fragrances of warm
bread and roses.
And I now remember — I don’t know why — that cow
we saw in the Attica plain, that evening, you remember?
It was taken off the plough, and standing it looked far
away, its breath steamed a little out of its nostrils,
in the purple, violet, golden sunset, silent cow, wounded,
on its back and sides, being whipped on its forehead,
perhaps knowing the denial and subjugation,
the intolerance and hatred of each agreement.
Manolis Aligizakis 