Ash and Ash Again The world is falling, falling with everything winged and fragrant, a drop of oil on my passion. I owe my infamy to fire. Like to all that’s fateful It mobilises hosts of dreams Till it scorches utopia like grass. Sometimes this too is revived a gazelle by sweat’s horizon, to once again stir the dry air amidst the lentisk. I believe in all that burns in vain. Transient and speechless I see mammals blazing In the festivity of milk. I’m precious, I guarantee nothing but ash. (Translated by David Connolly) (From “Sleepless Woman of the Skies”, 1995) Decoration for a Dinner But what is hunger? The royal hounds black and white come bounding through pits of dust at the immobilized victim bitten suddenly with the shiver of terror. The blood is lost in spice and aroma, in the brilliant illuminations of the dining-room, in the porcelain behaviour, the knife twelve inched from the fork. An...