Kondos Yannis poetry
''BRONZE AGE''
The excavations revealed your mornings
as inauspicious. The earth preserved the footprints.
At the count, five men it seemed. One,
the strongest, was wearing golden sandals.
He it was who broke down the door, and the servant girls
scattered. You'd only just put your foot
in the basin, for the day's first bath.
Your cries and the steam
are still visible on the walls.
All the rest has vanished:
the curses, the attempts at explanation,
the nurse's pleading,
the dove's frightened flight.
They found the knives, the blood,
the hair in his grasp, your groans,
the roar and the rubble of the earthquake
that occurred at the murder hour.
Thousands of years later,
the classifications, the opaque glass, the conservation,
the museum, the people passing by.
translated by David Connolly
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