He'll Be There And He'll Be: Me Poem by Yorgos Blanas

He'll be there;
and when the fragments of my brief life tinkle
like faded crystal in the lost
chambers of odd dreams
- slipping on the clean bathroom floor, I,
with the despair of sturdy flesh -
he will observe me tearfully.

He'll be there;
and when misfortune's wind sweeps away
whatever's left of me:
my grumblings, my dreams
my rejected, minor poems
- tangled in a maze of fat nurses
tubes, catheters, I, with the temerity
of one enduring life -
he will observe me tearfully.

He'll be there;
and when there'll be nothing left of my puny life
but two drops of sweat on the brows of my last companions
- weighty, almost too heavy to lift as always, I,
filling my empty mouth with earth
that filled the mouths of thousands of others before me
the same dry, trivial earth -
he will observe me horrified.

He'll be there;
but not a soul to take his hand
not one to think how pathetically he resembles
that old photograph
where my dead father is holding by the hand
his small son.


Translated by Yannis Goumas