You began to love in times of disgust.
Close at hand there was no tree, no sign
of a living stem or flower, and when there was no
reason to sing
it was your laughter, jubilant, rousing, saying: There
is someone here
alive—joyful! And many, so many, then were lying curled
up and fearful
in grimy shadow and you began to love without dousing the
light of the carbide
and went down to the boat that threatened to break up at sea,
and you conceived
against doctor’s orders. Unannounced, you strode the dead streets,
marching—all forty-five kilos of you!—as if on a victory parade
of life flowing beneath the surface of all
the words, like a fountain flowing, cascading
with confidence, telling no lies.
~ from SLOAN-KETTERING, translated by Eddie Levenston, Schocken
Books, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC, New York, 2002)
