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GLORIA ESCOFFERY The body of a fourteen year old caught playing politics Makes a hummock on the ground beside his ratchet knife Which drew blood but cannot bleed for him. The muzzle of a sawn-off short gun masks the eye of one Who, being a man (?), thinks himself a great gun. The gully scrub cannot hide him for ever; Silenced, he drops the gun and becomes a dead man. Now the killer's "baby mother" is caught by the press photographer; For the morning paper and forever she throws up her arms In the traditional gesture of prayer. Wai oh! Aiel Eheu! mourns the camera shot matron Whose stringy son, like a sucked mango seed, Lies there no more use to anyone; Soon to be inseparable from the rest of the levelled ground. Why this pieta needs to be enacted in our land No one can explain: It clearly belongs within the pieties of a museum frame. Is there no way but through this scene? GLORIA ESCOFFERY After the Fall Swordscape, tombscape, flame ploughed Where the old man gilt fingered reads, born; died Needs must in between have suffered, lied Sighing at the milk spill hushing. Now herself
Samuel Beckett Today / Aujourd'hui – Brill
Published: Dec 8, 2002
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