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SECOND APPEAL TO A MIRROR
Remember, knock on the threshold of time, knock on time's forehead,
demand of the doorman, demand of memory,
demand of the mirror, demand of yourself,
that the window, or the great
door, be opened,
listen to the footsteps sounding in the corridors, listen to the voice and the echoes,
Is it not you yourself who is about to appear, but do you know yourself
well enough to be able
to recognise yourself
as if you'd never seen your eyes or your mouth
or, having seen them, as if you had been able
to enter into them.
Who are you, who are you, but
who are you?
What is it that speaks in you,
in whose name does he speak, and what is his master,
and who commands and what then
are those who keep silent and obey,
who'll say any old thing, who sneer at the wind
blowing through them and pretend
to be mimicking the echoes so as to
throw us off course and avoid
interrogation so no-one
will ask who he is -
which is the true, which is you.
Which is you, traveller, emerging out of childhood?
We know you're not from around here
but not the country you come from,
a country where they understand
the language of the stones and the birds,
the bitter language of a silence that is lived
and the underground marshes of sorrows that lie
under an enchantment, and you yourself
don't know who you are.
All the fathers speak for you, and all the dead people you possess,
and all the women of life, of death,
and all the stars, fallen and ravished,
and all the earth burning and the green leaves of the dawn,
and the demons of the land of the dead
and the temptations underneath
the golden chandelier,
and the weariness, those bursts of energy, and the reasons
for feeling proud, and the base
pleasures with bitten fingernails
and the coral of hope
and the simple pleasure of hands outstretched to receive
a flower that has been offered, all that
speaks for you in your voice
without anyone knowing
which of them is your voice.
without anyone knowing perhaps
even if you are,
nor if there is someone who bears your name,
nor if the sun straps a shadow to your feet
nor if the night ties a light to your eyes,
nor if you can draw out of the silence a sound
that would be your name.