In the Dark

A stench of blood arose in the falling rain.
And sobbing could be heard in the wind.
It was summer yet the streets were frozen white,
folks shut their gates, shuddered hidden indoors.

Could all those past deaths have been in vain?
That year's bloodstains could still be seen on grass and rocks
up in the hills where I had taken the kids.
Deep at night all the grieving spirits would wake
and fill the dark valley with their keening laments.

Tell me, friend, what am I so afraid of?
I was so anxious that I woke the kid to go for a piss,
and recalled vividly the last shot in Pere Lachaise
Cemetery. My eye shouted: Look, look!

My ear screamed: Listen, listen,
to the very first empty stillness
but I felt ashamed to admit that I knew
the tales entangled in that mountain valley.

We buried our friend in the lee of a rock
then scrubbed and wiped our muddy hands
wondering if really all those past deaths had been in vain,
that had taught us just how strong we were?

In this summer night loud with the keening of blood
in flowers, yes, and in dewdrops, too,
tell me friend, what am I so afraid of?

(1974)


Translated by Brother Anthony of Taize and Young-Moo Kim