Benjamin Fondane
FROM: ULYSSES
I have put into port in cities
with companions whose names I did not know
opened myself to faces whose expressions,
from within, fUled my flesh with wonder
-flesh, this city was of flesh, of skin,
set in motion by living transmission belts
it washed its old cathedrals, its ancient cobblestones,
its time like dirtied linen;
it cried its glory:
0, I've spat on History,
hungered in Seville for a real Senorita
lean as a meal on Ash Wednesday;
she sold canaries.
At Cadix, I dreamed of the dawns of Paris.
I've cursed, in Dakar, the white homelands,
Called to myself sand, sleep . ..
My heart was so cowardly and so weak:
- Almeria, you reeked of garlic . . .
Everywhere people seated in cafes: the banks .
We spoke their language as little as possible,
spent time in old churches where Jesus Christ,
painted, nailed to the wall, let out his cry!
The time for prayers, already passed,
old the cry, all beauty so old;
there was nothing alive but blood,
the blood that ran black from gutted horses,
and in those slaughterhouses,
a dull emotion that took shape in the mouth:
"Come in gentlemen, witness the marvelous and horrible
side-show!"
