1805: Ross: Children of the Ghetto | George Szirtes
"Ross: Children of the Ghetto"
George Szirtes
Love, we were young once, and ran races
over rough ground in our best shiny shoes,
we kicked at stones, we fell over, pulled faces.
Our knees were filthy with our secret places,
with rituals and ranks, with strategy and ruse.
Love, we were young once and ran races
to determine the most rudimentary of graces
such as strength and speed and the ability to bruise.
We kicked at stones, we fell over, pulled faces,
and doing so left no permanent traces
because we fought and fell only to confuse
love. We were young. Once we ran races
in ghettos, in camps, in the dismal spaces
of the imagination reserved for Jews.
We kicked at stones, we fell over, pulled faces
at elastic braces, shoelaces, empty packing cases
as if they were the expressions we could choose.
Love, we were young once, and ran races.
We kicked at stones, we fell over, we pulled faces.
I am embers. I can feel that's nothing/new.
George Szirtes
Love, we were young once, and ran races
over rough ground in our best shiny shoes,
we kicked at stones, we fell over, pulled faces.
Our knees were filthy with our secret places,
with rituals and ranks, with strategy and ruse.
Love, we were young once and ran races
to determine the most rudimentary of graces
such as strength and speed and the ability to bruise.
We kicked at stones, we fell over, pulled faces,
and doing so left no permanent traces
because we fought and fell only to confuse
love. We were young. Once we ran races
in ghettos, in camps, in the dismal spaces
of the imagination reserved for Jews.
We kicked at stones, we fell over, pulled faces
at elastic braces, shoelaces, empty packing cases
as if they were the expressions we could choose.
Love, we were young once, and ran races.
We kicked at stones, we fell over, we pulled faces.
I am embers. I can feel that's nothing/new.