from America (1983)
Montevideo
It’s a good feeling to find yourself in a city
far far away and for the first time
and where you don’t understand
a single blessed word of what they’re talking about
and to sit down on a stone feeling all alone and at a loss
and to stay there for hours just watching the way
the stinking waters of a port come and slap against the stone
on which your carcase has humbly taken seat and
to think think think for hours on end until
the day slips by on the flowing tide like
that dead fish floating among those dog-ends
dead leaves spat-out pips slowly being drifted out to sea
and behind you the roar of traffic passing and fishermen
after sitting there for ages dangling a hook
in front of fish gorging on filth until at last fed-up
they’ve packed it in with their rods and balls of twine
and gone on their way to anyone willing to listen to them
and still to keep sitting there watching a wave
forever covering the same rock then uncovering it for you again
you begin to realize that evening is washing over this city
where no one knows you or cares what becomes of you
as you sit there all alone in the deepening darkness
without even a bed where you might lie down and sleep
then one by one the stars as they come out give you shots
of the pleasure you feel in letting yourself go into death
with the fear of seeing once more the wreck of yourself
coming and begging you to drag it through the streets from door
to door until you find it a place to lay its bag of bones
with twilight the harbour’s stale stink grows stronger
aaarrgh! the dead fish comes washing in again the gulls
dig their beaks into their prey then fly back up I get to
my feet and stagger off towards the bugs of yet another bed
James Kirkup has been a frequent contributor to MPT and was the featured translator in MPT 11
Translated by James Kirkup
Page(s) 36-37
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