This ends A Falling Body, The Daily Comics for 2011. To view other comics200e blogs, click on titles under NAVIGATE, below.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Page 32

At a Loss for Words

He came to the city,

Esu Ketema me – t' -a.

My father’s fricative edges, simple cubes

and cones coarse and emphatic in the mouth.

But we became strangers, cooling

like stars in their diaspora.

I translated these words:

All human-beings

to dignity and rights' matter in

from birth freedom and equality

acquired is. Them to reason

and conscience's


acquired is and always them

to brotherhood's spirit... .

But what does this mean

to strangers who speak from vulgar Latin,

who bow to Slavonic borrowing, freeze

in Orthodox corners?

Words twist

in the mountains— Alouette,

hidden for ages with potatoes and onions,

they change with a curl of the lip,

a softness of palate. I remember the woman,

face to face on the train, our fingers touched

across the table. Koncha madhu patrakke haki

(having poured a little wine into the cup

separately.) I came fast forward,

she rode backwards just as quickly, finishing

her drink, falling through words.

By the book of The Red House,

I’m carried in travel,

forwards and backwards, my father,

my lovers,

my children,

transforming the stone on my tongue.

Ref. from Amharic, Hindi, Slavic and Romance languages, Kannada, the early Mandarin novel The Red House

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