Clothing Prose Poems
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In a chest or wardrobe of precious ebony, I shall place and keep my life’s clothing.
     The blue garments. And then the red ― these the most beautiful. And afterwards the yellow. And finally the blue again, only much more faded, these, than the first.
     I shall keep them with reverence and with great sorrow.
     When I come to put on black garments and live in a black house, in a dark room, I shall sometimes open the wardrobe with joy, with longing, with despair.
     I shall gaze on the garments, and I shall recall the great feast ― which by then will be completely over.
     Completely over. The furniture scattered in disarray through the great rooms. Broken plates and glasses on the floor. All of the candles burnt down to their ends. All of the wine drunk. All of the guests gone. Some who are tired will sit by themselves, all alone, like me, in dark houses; others, even more tired, will have gone to bed.

Translated by Walter Kaiser

- Original Greek Poem

- Translation by Manuel Savidis