Tuesday, November 3, 2020
The Miserable Supper
How long will we have to wait for what is
not owed to us . . . And in what corner will
we kick our poor sponge forever! How long before
the cross that inspires us does not rest its oars.
How long before Doubt toasts our nobility for
having suffered . . .
We have already sat so
long at this table, with the bitterness of a child
who at midnight, cries from hunger, wide awake . . .
And when will we join all the others, at the brink
of an eternal morning, everybody breakfasted.
For just how long this vale of tears, into which
I never asked to be led.
Resting on my elbows,
all bathed in tears, I repeat head bowed
and defeated how much longer will this supper last.
There's someone who has drunk too much, and he mocks us,
and offers and withdraws from us — like a black spoonful
of bitter human essence — the tomb . . .
And this abstruse one knows
even less how much longer this supper will last!
The Complete Poetry
translated by Clayton Eshleman
here we are, election day in America —
are we having a miserable supper?