Afar a bird/ Samuel Beckett

Ruinstrewn land, he has trodden it all
night long, I gave up, hugging the hedges,
between road and ditch, on the scant grass,
little slow steps, no sound, stopping ever and
again, every ten steps say, little wary steps, to
catch his breath, then listen, ruinstrewn land, I
gave up before birth, it is not possible other-
wise, but birth there had to be, it was he, I was
inside, now he stops again, for the hundredth
time that night say, that gives the distance
one, it's the last, hunched over his stick, I'm
inside, it was he who wailed, he who saw the
light, I didn't wail, I didn't see the light, one on
top of the other the hands weigh on the stick,
the head weighs on the hands, he has caught
his breath, he can listen now, the trunk
horizontal, the legs asprawl, sagging at the
knees, same old coat, the stiffened tails stick
up behind, day dawns, he has only to raise his
eyes, open his eyes, raise his eyes, he merges
in the hedge, afar a bird, a moment past he
grasps and is fled, it was he had a life, I didn't
have a life, a life not worth having, because of
me, it's impossible I should have a mind and I
have one, someone divines me, divines us,
that's what he's come to, come to in the end, I
see him in my mind, there divining us, hands
and head a little heap, the hours pass, he is
still, he seeks a voice for me, it's impossible I
should have a voice and I have none, he'll find
one for me, ill beseeming me, it will meet the
need, his need, but no more of him, that
image, the little heap of hands and head, the
trunk horizontal, the jutting elbows, the eyes
closed and the face rigid listening, the eyes
hidden and the whole face hidden, that image
and no more, never changing, ruinstrewn land,
night recedes, he is fled, I'm inside, he'll do
himself to death, because of me, I'll live it with
him, I'll live his death, the end of his life and
then his death, step by step, in the present,
how he'll go about it, it's impossible I should
know, I'll know, step by step, it's he will die, I
won't die, there will be nothing of him left but
bones, I'll be inside, nothing but a little grit, I'll
be inside, it is not possible otherwise,
ruinstrewn land, he is fled through the hedge,
no more stopping now, he will never say I,
because of me, he won't speak to anyone, no
one will speak to him, he won't speak to
himself, there is nothing left in his head, I'll
feed it all it needs, all it needs to end, to say I
no more, to open its mouth no more, confu-
sion of memory and lament, of loved ones and
impossible youth, clutching the stick in the
middle he stumbles bowed over the fields, a
life of my own I tried, in vain, never any but
his, worth nothing, because of me, he said it
wasn't one, it was, still is, the same, I'm still
inside, the same, I'll put faces in his head,
names, places, churn them all up together, all
he needs to end, phantoms to flee, last phan-
toms to flee and to pursue, he'll confuse his
mother with whores, his father with a road-
man named Balfe, I'll feed him an old curdog,
a mangy old curdog, that he may love again, lose again,
ruinstrewn land, little panic steps

I gave up before birth, it is not possible
otherwise, but birth there had to be, it was he,
I was inside, that's how I see it, it was he who
wailed, he who saw the light, I didn't wail, I
didn't see the light, it's impossible I should
have a voice, impossible I should have
thoughts, and I speak and think, I do the
impossible, it is not possible otherwise, it was
he who had a life, I didn't have a life, a life not
worth having, because of me, he'll do himself
to death, because of me, I'll tell the tale, the
tale of his death, the end of his life and his
death, his death alone would not be enough,
not enough for me, if he rattles it's he who will
rattle, I won't rattle, he who will die, perhaps
they will bury him, if they find him, I'll be
inside, he'll rot, I won't rot, there will be
nothing of him left but bones, I'll be inside,
nothing left but dust, I'll be inside, it is not
possible otherwise, that's how I see it, the end
of his life and his death, how he will go about
it, go about coming to an end, it's impossible I
should know, I'll know, step by step, impossi-
ble I should tell, I'll tell, in the present, there
will be no more talk of me, only of him, of the
end of his life and his death, of his burial if
they find him, that will be the end, I won't go
on about worms, about bones and dust, no one
cares about them, unless I'm bored in his dust,
that would surprise me, as stiff as I was in his
flesh, here long silence, perhaps he'll drown,
he always wanted to drown, he didn't want
them to find him, he can't want now any more,
but he used to want to drown, he usen't to
want them to find him, deep water and a
millstone, urge spent like all the others, but
why one day to the left, to the left and not
elsewhither, here long silence, there will be no
more L he'll never say I any more, he'll never
say anything any more, he won't talk to
anyone, no one will talk to him, he won't talk
to himself, he won't think any more, he'll go
on, I'll be inside, he'll come to a place and
drop, why there and not elsewhere, drop and
sleep, badly because of me, he'll get up and go
on, badly because of me, he can't stay still any
more, because of me, he can't go on any more,
because of me, there's nothing left in his head,
I'll feed it all it needs.


Moya