Yannis Ritsos
Clouds on the mountain. Who or what is to blame? Silent and tired,
he looks forward, turns back, takes a step, bends over.
Stones lie below, birds above. A jar standing
in the window. Thorns in the open lands. Hands in pockets.
You plead and plead. The poem isn’t coming. Vacated.
The word needed to describe this must contain some emptiness.
May 15, 1968
Partheni concentration camp
from Stones [Collected Poems: I ]
1 comment:
Love this one, Scott!
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