Níkos Davvétas
From: The Yellow Darkness of Van Gogh (1995)
Wheatfield
only my will that the desert bloom
money? to buy sand sand
to sell at a loss
my trade? nothing more
than a clumsy attempt
to disarm the macabre
I was a prototype for sure
a worthless puppet
crafted by God
bored in his spare time.
My road ends here
all round rise menacing wheat-ears
obedient only to the orders
of the trainer wind
my comfort and refuge
the nest of the sky
as the day's hinge closes;
but winged creatures pin me to earth
no way out but that defile
at the back of my mind
with its turbid waters and swarms of bees
a journey of two days and nights
from there to death
the sweetest homeland.
Translated by Simon Darragh
Page(s) 182
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