after Marc Chagall
I. Listening to the cock
When the world was still
Upside down in slumber
And trees seemed to hang
From the night clouds,
And the claw of the moon
Scratched between silences,
I heard the crow of the cock.
I heard the cock sing
And it was not for day,
Or for night he was crowing—
It was for life.
I heard him cry for
Dear life which was coiled
Inside him like a hen
Full of eggs while
High above in the night
The barnyard animals
All dreamed of living
The lonely lives of men.
II. The revolution
O Nikolay, what a show
You have made for the crowd!
You are a living flagpole
For the banner of Revolution!
All eyes are upon you
As you play the acrobat,
Standing on one hand
While the flag waves from your legs!
All the world is watching,
Armies, children and lovers
As you stand on one hand
On the table where a rabbi
Sits holding the scroll of the law.
All eyes are upon you, all
But the rabbi’s weary eye.
III. The three candles
Harlequin tunes his flute
To play for the wedding
A song of blood and fire,
A song to make the dead
Happily dance with the living.
Angels with violins glide
Over the chapel dome
Serenading the groom and bride
As they walk above the earth.
A shady angel unrolls
The red carpet for lovers,
The living and dead, to dance
As they pass from innocence
On this path of blood and fire.
IV. White crucifixion
Lions above the arc
Rise up roaring in pain
As a tongue of yellow flame
Blows from the temple door.
Why is the temple on fire?
Why are the books on fire?
Why must a bearded scholar
Shouldering the sack of Time
Warm his hands at this fire
Of the white scroll of the Law?
Why is our village burning?
In the stream of heaven’s light
The flying dead hide their eyes,
Whispering at the vision:
One of their own on the cross,
His lean and tormented loins
Wrapped in a ragged tallis.
V. The fiddler
When in the night the fiddler
Flies over the town
Scattering notes like silver,
Tuning birds to a chorus;
When in the night the fiddler
Crosses the strings with his bow,
The church spires stand on tip-toe
To listen, the whistling trees
Shake off the dust of snow;
The stars rub their eyes,
And shake off the night clouds.
And I wish I had three heads,
Three sets of ears to hear
The golden and green melodies
Of the fiddler as he goes by
Leaving footprints on the sky.
VI. In the night
If God ever speaks to me
It will be on a night like this,
A snowy night in January.
We will be embracing
In the middle of the street,
So dearly in each other’s arms
A lonely man in his doorway
May warm himself at our fire. Yes
It will be such a night as this
That I’ll hear God’s voice,
A night when there is such light
From the knife of the moon
The snowflakes all around us
Tremble: stars taken by surprise.
