Philoctetes (excerpt)

The mark of the rope was vaguely seen on her face

as when the hunters were heard on the road

she would correct her expression, pushing aside

a ringlet of her hair as if falling over her eyes;

she was pushing aside the mark of that rope,

we learned of it later, when, at twilight, the last horn

was heard from the far end of the lake, when

a piece of the house stucco fell off noiselessly

and the open plain was steaming, golden and rosy,

from the light-blue hues of the trees, and the dogs,

although tired, tongues hanging out, would

trod lightly as if climbing to heaven in ecstasy.

Soon the evening was filled with shiny colourful wings

of dead birds, laying there on top of the outdoor table

with the platers full of purple, golden, red grapes

and fresh water from the well. Mother would smile

joylessly; and you wanted to be a bird she’d say to me

and she would instruct the servant girls to prepare

the birds for the dinner in the backyard, where

the shadow of the mountain was already falling

as if melted and resembling fiery sparkly iron, and

the gigantic cypresses, austere, dark and all alone,

took their silent inexplicable initiative.

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