Inside the poems Poem by Nicolas Born

You cannot make a living
competing with reality
nor can you make a living off reality
but you can survive an intrusion
and get everything back
and go through life
through the rapidly wasting images
you were all that
you and nascent life
People panting under gravestones
With a great heave
from you and all forbears
your transmission cuts out
Land and water remain
the sky remains
and you remain
you are not prepared for anything
small suns light up your democracy and
you elect both life and death
you have many beautiful voices
you are many
your skin is your skin and ultimately
nothing but skin
you are the entrepreneur of life
the impresario of white apparitions
you are a space-being in the open air
the author of the course of history
you can print time like books
you weigh and sift and love And dictaphone ruins
blow in the wind
unreason is in full bloom
you are the blooms and the unreason
you are day and night by day and night
you are a murderer
circulating in your own bloodstream
you are father and son
you are the exploited indian
and the processed indian
you are all colours and races
you are the widow and the orphan
you are the revolt of all prisoners
you are the non-stop howling
knives thrown shots fired
you are the magnificent runner of dream-miles
the storm of images in democracy's capital
you are the destroyer of all chains
you are the secretly luminous watchword
the banner
the avant-garde of soup kitchens
you are a human And
an animal when it senses death
you are alone and you are all
you are your death and you are the great desire
you are the blueprint that you unfurl And
you are your death

Translated by Marty Hiatt