Classic Poem

I am all the time being pursued.
Like the star in a horror movie
I am pursued to the bitter end.
After living under a faint star of misfortune
unaware of the way things are,
one day the hackneyed plot says
that I suddenly start to be pursued
in the old projector, today again,
that never wearies but just keeps turning . . .

Now it's raining on the screen
and there I am from behind, getting drenched,
ceaselessly pursued . . .
What crime did I commit?
On the silent screen
faint foreign words flash like a code;
why did I become a criminal?
Like some imbecilic flower,
even the question forgotten,
pursuing motions of flight in all directions.

As I hoped, though a nightmare is a nightmare,
if it's a nightmare you never wake from
all your life long
it's something great,
it's O.K.
Ah, but you see, I long to watch
one really splendid love movie,
and one quite frighteningly extravagant
art film . . .