Congratulations to all the American voters who would seem to have struck a blow against fascism and against thieving politicians and their rich friends. I have been particularly pleased to see Hispanic voters asserting themselves and seeking to advance their interests. And I was impressed to read this about Josh Turek, the Democrat who won the Senate seat in Iowa. He was born with spina bifida—a condition he has attributed to his father’s exposure to Agent Orange during the Vietnam War—and he has used a wheelchair his entire life. A star wheelchair basketball player, Josh played professionally in Europe for nearly two decades with clubs in Italy, France and Spain. While playing in Spain, he met Jarolin Reyes, an immigrant from the Dominican Republic, who he married. There’s a new American Senator!
More generally, the US elections were a striking repudiation of racism and anti-immigrant sentiments. Georgia, Florida, Nevada and Wisconsin have all elected Black governors for the first time in history. Texas elected a Latina. Michigan chose a Moslem senator, etc.! One wonders if there will be repercussions for the racist and anti-immigrant politicians here in France and elsewhere in Europe?
Meanwhile, herewith two poems in English followed by des versions en français y en español. One of the two joins my previous small series of elevator poems, which included This is not a love poem (Elevator poem #3). 4 billion eggs includes “Now the elevator shows only 2’s, yet speaks from the heart.”
English
The elevator’s shudder
Was on descending,
The elevator’s shudder
Always one and the same?
Or were there days
(There are always those days)
She felt in her frame
The wet, the cold, the window drafts
And shaking she longed
For what?
She could not say.
The oyster who is not cooked
The oyster who is not cooked
But swallowed
And arrives alive
In an acid place
And there
While it disintegrates
It speculates
Is this the death
That was meant for me
When first near my parents
I began
At the edge of the sea?
Français
Le frémissement de l’ascenseur
Était-il, dans la descente
Toujours le même
Ou y avait-il des jours
(Il y a toujours de tels jours)
Elle ou son acier
Ressentait l’humidité
Le froid, les courants d’air
Et, tremblante, elle aspirait
À quoi, mais voilà
Elle ne saurait pas
Comment le dire
L’huître qui n’est pas cuite
L’huître qui n’est pas cuite
Mais avalée
Et arrive vivante
Dans un endroit acide
Et là
Tandis qu’il se désintègre
Il se demande
Est-ce vraiment la mort
Qui m’était assignée
Lorsque, tout près de mes parents
Au bord de la mer
J’ai commencé ?
Español
El estremecimiento del ascensor
Era al bajar
Siempre el mismo
O había días
(Siempre hay días)
En los que él o su acero
Sentían la humedad
La humedad
Y el frío, las corrientes de aire
Y, temblando, anhelaba
Pero por qué
A qué aspiraba
No sabía decirlo
La ostra que no está cocida
La ostra que no está cocida
pero tragada
y llega viva
a un lugar ácido
y allí
mientras se desintegra
se pregunta
¿Es realmente la muerte
la que me estaba destinada
cuando, cerca de mis padres
al borde del mar
empecé?
— Poems and artwork by William Eaton.
For more: 4 billion eggs.