Maria Banus, 'I Say to My Pencil'

[duathir]

I Say to My Pencil

I say to my pencil:
Go this way,
the grass is soft in the moonlight,
the leaves coo like doves…
Damn slave!
I might as well be talking to the walls!
Where do you think you’re going?
To ash-gray courtyards, coarse, scorched grass,
gruesome bandages under rubble,
garbage cans…
Where are you eavesdropping?
At the back window, a death rattle…
Get away from there, I tell you.
Nobody can help him.
Good-for-nothing slave, won’t you listen to me?

by Maria Banus
Translated from Romanian by Adam J. Sorkin and Lidia Vianu