Summer wind

Yannis Ritsos

With these stones
An unexpected wind blew. The heavy shutters creaked.
Leaves were lifted from the ground. They flew away, flew away.
Until only stones remained. Now we must make do with these—
he kept repeating—with these, with these. When night descended
the great, inky mountainside, he threw our keys into the well.
Ah, dear stones—he said—one by one I'll chisel
the unknown faces and my body, with its one hand
tightly clenched, raised above the wall.

from Stones [Collected Poems:I ]
(translated by Scott King_ )


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...η μελέτη του σώματος δίνει την αίσθηση ανείπωτης περιπλοκής...
Φρ. Νιτσε