Friday, April 4, 2008

Gentle Evenings

Yannis Ritsos

A leaf falls in the night. Silence is heard.
An insect buzzes in the Great Bear's ear.
The moon appears—small, very small,
smaller even than the key to the wardrobe. On the flat roof
our table stands naked—covered in dew,
it shines like a pool of water. A white tree
leaps into the house through the open window,
travels round the chamber with noiseless pirouettes.
Ah, well, how are we supposed to get any sleep?
And won't we be woken tomorrow also? Eri, Eri,
come, you might as well dance a tiny mazurka with the tree.

from Small Dedications (1960-1965) [Collected Poems Delta' -- pg 134]

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