Monday, January 12, 2009


Yannis Ritsos

Undefined faces, lit by the reflection of a large mirror.
He listened to the sound of the door knocker. No one moved to answer it. The sound
went back out the windows into the night, until it encountered the one
knocking at the door. Then, as if he had fulfilled his mission,
this man grew quiet and moved toward the gate, dripping with dew.
He picked a flower and pinned it to his breast. “Fortunately,” he said,
“fortunately they didn’t answer the door.” For in truth no one was sought,
no one had sent him, and there was nothing for him to announce; only
those profound knocks upon the door, for everyone inside and for himself.

May 16, 1968
Partheni concentration camp

from Stones [Collected Poems: I ]

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