Karen Van Dyck reads
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A poem by Katerina Anghelaki-Rooke (1939—) trans. by Karen Van Dyck And your absence teaches me what art could not —Daniel Weissbort I wasn’t weaving, I wasn’t knitting I was writing something erasing and being erased under the weight of the word because perfect expression is blocked when the inside is pressured by pain. And while absence is the theme of my life —absence from life— tears and the natural suffering of the deprived body appear on the page. I erase, I tear up, I stifle the living cries “Where are you, come, I’m waiting for you this spring is not like other springs” and I begin again in the morning with new birds and white sheets drying in the sun. You will never be here to water the flowers the old ceiling dripping under the weight of the rain with my personality dissolving into yours quietly, autumn-like… Your choice heart —choice because I have chosen it— will always be elsewhere and I will cut with words the threads that bind me to the particular man I long for until Odysseus becomes the symbol of Nostalgia sailing the seas of every mind. Each day I passionately forget you that you may be washed of the sins of fragrance and sweetness and finally all clean enter immortality. It is a hard and thankless job. My only reward is that I understand in the end what human presence is what absence is or how the self functions in such desolation, in so much time how nothing can stop tomorrow the body keeps remaking itself rising and falling on the bed as if axed down sometimes sick, sometimes in love hoping that what it loses in touch it gains in essence.