Sunday, January 4, 2009


Yannis Ritsos

Lizards, large and small, in the cracks in the wall. Spiders,
heaps of spiders in the baskets of spent summer. He
could care less about the statues—not having become one.
His hands abandoned on bare knees. Fingernails,
hairs, the ring (what kind of ring?), all these seemed very strange.
Not having to hide anything, he has nothing to expose.

May 22, 1968
Partheni concentration camp

from Stones [Collected Poems:I ]

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