Salvador Espriu
The Scarecrow
They said: “If you are hungry
and so many of your teeth are rotting,
what are you trying to do?” Thoroughly defeated,
I answer them: “I would sing,
hidden by the water
within the mud, at evening,
by the trampling stomp of lofty footsteps
through the darkness, the slowly changing
night skies, the whistle
of the last train that carries
blind oblates to Matins.
In bed you would feel
that I am faithful to your dreams,
how I always stay awake and count
the hours of winter, the time spent waiting
for every drop of rain.”
They smiled. “Would you like
to wander around? Your bag
won’t let you. We’ll make you more useful
with a profession so you can eat
immediately.” And they filled
my entire stomach with straw
and, leaving me in the same
rags I wear, they raised me up
as a scarecrow above
lands of bad weather where
beaks of crows and rooks
gnaw at me and rocks destroy what’s left
of my hat. Contrary winds
receive me. Then I’m left
in solitude, and the prolonged
dampness is rotting me
in the master’s vineyard.
–translated by Andrew Kaufman & Antonio Cortijo Ocaña
Other work by Salvador Espriu