Saturday, January 3, 2009


Yannis Ritsos

Those ones beneath the trees stained by the sun, so very beautiful, seated
on covered furniture, on stools, on chairs, in front of the wire fence,
as for a parade, as though you were supposed to draw them—they play backgammon, they read and are quiet—they aren’t listening;
with that swath of blue-silver sea for a backdrop, they’re so beautiful
there’s no need for questions, for knowledge. At the far end of the avenue lined with trees,
a slender boy appears, a dirty towel over one shoulder,
bending over, collecting empty lemonade bottles, cloudy and hot in the sun.

May 22, 1968
Partheni concentration camp

from Stones [Collected Poems:I ]

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