Why do we draw the chains tight across thousands of miles?
Rest in rooms through which thousands of people have passed?
Glimpse our faces in the faces
And depart …
So that in the evening we can brush the dust off the suitcases?
Why the suitcases?
Three years, and every morning they wake us up
So we rise from our beds in pajamas, extinguished,
Leap up and carry them, then fall back to the door
to wipe from our palms the dust of the suitcases.
Why the suitcases?
Madly they travel at night …
then calm down amidst the noise of the ships,
rest silently
between my tormented face and the sea,
across the luggage racks of trains …
—Is my lady afraid of the suitcases
Rocking across the racks?
—Look, the sea beyond the window travels without suitcases
—Everything travels behind train windows except the suitcases
Fearfully then she touches her hair
her lover's arm embraces her head …
—Look, the suitcases have jumped onto the pavement
They are vanishing now behind thousands of hurrying feet, they
seem to be standing
—Aah … Where did I see you?
Do you remember the suitcases?
—Do you travel without suitcases?
—Then who shakes off their faces the dust and the silence?
They hate to wait
and the chains across thousands of miles …
I have hidden the chains in the suitcases
My mind clamors, the chains clamor within it …
—Rose, drink the wine
—I have had enough …
I shall wipe the dust from our two flowers
I shall wipe the dust from our lips …
And we shall move on …
—And where, Rose, shall I leave the suitcases?
The flowers fall wilted across the suitcases …
The flowers are silent in the damp hotel …
the suitcases float between the ships and the bridge
I carry them to the pavements …
—Open your hands to the sea, the pigeons will come hurrying,
All the ships will come
—Look, the sea turns down its hands to the birds
the pigeons fall, they come here in the trains …
—In St. Germain people carry dead pigeons in suitcases
They stand there over the bridge
Shall we cross the bridge?
All the suitcases cross over
I cross the bridge packed with suitcases
The shadow escapes, the suitcases escape from our hands,
they line up among the faces of passport officials,
open their bowels
multiply among the many faces …
Suddenly a newcomer closes them.
—They are mine—smiles apologetically and departs
and I smile apologetically and depart.
So that I can throw them across the luggage racks
The passport officials wake them up in the morning
the passport officials wake them up in the evening
They are opened … closed … closed … opened
they enter soft-voiced
clutch their entrails with their hands
rush terrified into the streets
vomit up their chains …
then sit, cold, at my weary feet,
the suitcases.
Rest in rooms through which thousands of people have passed?
Glimpse our faces in the faces
And depart …
So that in the evening we can brush the dust off the suitcases?
Why the suitcases?
Three years, and every morning they wake us up
So we rise from our beds in pajamas, extinguished,
Leap up and carry them, then fall back to the door
to wipe from our palms the dust of the suitcases.
Why the suitcases?
Madly they travel at night …
then calm down amidst the noise of the ships,
rest silently
between my tormented face and the sea,
across the luggage racks of trains …
—Is my lady afraid of the suitcases
Rocking across the racks?
—Look, the sea beyond the window travels without suitcases
—Everything travels behind train windows except the suitcases
Fearfully then she touches her hair
her lover's arm embraces her head …
—Look, the suitcases have jumped onto the pavement
They are vanishing now behind thousands of hurrying feet, they
seem to be standing
—Aah … Where did I see you?
Do you remember the suitcases?
—Do you travel without suitcases?
—Then who shakes off their faces the dust and the silence?
They hate to wait
and the chains across thousands of miles …
I have hidden the chains in the suitcases
My mind clamors, the chains clamor within it …
—Rose, drink the wine
—I have had enough …
I shall wipe the dust from our two flowers
I shall wipe the dust from our lips …
And we shall move on …
—And where, Rose, shall I leave the suitcases?
The flowers fall wilted across the suitcases …
The flowers are silent in the damp hotel …
the suitcases float between the ships and the bridge
I carry them to the pavements …
—Open your hands to the sea, the pigeons will come hurrying,
All the ships will come
—Look, the sea turns down its hands to the birds
the pigeons fall, they come here in the trains …
—In St. Germain people carry dead pigeons in suitcases
They stand there over the bridge
Shall we cross the bridge?
All the suitcases cross over
I cross the bridge packed with suitcases
The shadow escapes, the suitcases escape from our hands,
they line up among the faces of passport officials,
open their bowels
multiply among the many faces …
Suddenly a newcomer closes them.
—They are mine—smiles apologetically and departs
and I smile apologetically and depart.
So that I can throw them across the luggage racks
The passport officials wake them up in the morning
the passport officials wake them up in the evening
They are opened … closed … closed … opened
they enter soft-voiced
clutch their entrails with their hands
rush terrified into the streets
vomit up their chains …
then sit, cold, at my weary feet,
the suitcases.