On a Phrase by Milosz
by John G. Evans
4/28/2020 5:42:30 AM
“I was tortured by fear of what would happen next.” *
born of German earth
which sifts the morning sky?
as my age-old face asks all the questions
and reasons away all the whys. The foggy vapor’s
emergence breaks open like a vile shout of thunder from the
banded colors of red, black, and white, where I am back, again, in 1959.
I see twin fists clenched in an indignity of rage, where blood from my eyes
carries forth yet of another page, while this faction of two ran us both
my brother of three, and while I see this racist duo of terror released from its cage
we run, we run, we run into a darkened crater where structures used to be, my brother
and I, my brother of three. We hang from a deadened cable, or from the root of a tree.
We escaped the twin brothers of fascism and of adversity while
hanging from roots these voices we heard, the blood
of the martyrs, the blood of the trees, rhythmic
seasons came violently from darkness
with our black sinuous renegades
of branch and vine,
as we were
*Czelaw Milosz, A Poetic State, Berkley, 1977.