The Bewildered Deaf-and-dumb Teacher
I
the noise of rain on the window-shutter
where the sparrows’ small black claws land
scrape away
a little of the green paint
will always carry it with them
and I too carry with me
greenness under my feet
a gull blows in under the bridge
backwards. like a wet paper bag
I also go in there. want to have
all that concrete
over my head. here everything’s shadow
the foliage dark green. the wheels of the subway carriages
roar over my head. in this din
no-one can hear me if I’m talking
and I am talking
wet and green. like the trees
round the silent games in the playground of the deaf-and-dumb
school
he stood at the window
crumbling a stick of chalk to bits. their eyes
followed his lips. their eyes
fastened on the blue sparks
round the electric bell’s clapper
while the room filled
with unheard screaming signals
II
America. can’t I ever stop thinking
about America? all that white snow
on the rusty car-wrecks. the sick Indians
in the reservation. they die young
coughing in heavy soaking clothes
while the melting snow runs down
through the plank roof. ‘my people’
said the old Indian woman. then
she sat silent
‘my people’. now they are everywhere
crouched under the trees
take farewell of each other with their eyes
while America grows up around them
in us too there is
the poison and the lies. the rabbits
in their little cages
forced to smoke hundreds of cigarettes
per day. the strange burn on my breast
grows each. yes I’ve seen
heaven. seen our heads
thrust into heaven. seen heaven
thrust into our heads
(when he turns away and speaks
they don’t see his lips. they understand
nothing. and he does turn away)
to grow into the ground
while our thoughts travel
all over the world. eyes breasts legs
covered with moss. the words too
have their roots there. to go on talking
with earth in your mouth
stones in your hands. to go on talking
while the grass grows over us
III
write after me
he says:
we shall think new thoughts together
new thoughts
we can think only together
our heads
move forwards through the world. words
pass through our mouths
make everything visible
keep us warm
the din from carriage after carriage
passing through my head
the electric bells are screaming. LEAN OUT
OF THE WINDOW. you’re moving forwards. moving
homewards. only those who stand still
are moving backwards
outside the window
they’re looking at him. is he talking
the wrong language? making the wrong signs?
suddenly he looks completely bewildered
as if he were filled with darkness from inside
and writes with chalk
on the concrete vault of the bridge
on the blackboard: ‘the earth’s standing still
I’m the one who’s spinning’
Translated by Robin Fulton
Page(s) 44-47
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