|
The Sacrifice
i.m. Andrei Tarkovsky
"There is no remembrance of former things. Neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come with those that shall come after." - Ecclesiastes
"Nato planes have accidentally bombed a hospital." - News broadcast, May 1999
I
In spite of ourselves we return to the same place
simply because we cannot recall ourselves
ever to have been there before. If we did
we would not come back again.
It is why things always end in the same way.
II
I blow a speck of dust from my hand.
I watch it drift, tiny - so tiny - up.
It seems to hang for a moment then gently
it falls, slowly, softly through the late night
onto the table. Silent. Infinitely delicate.
At the same instant somewhere brute bombs
blast into bone and blood through stone and tin.
Surgical air-strikes. Surgical. Missiles
like space-ships into children.
Why are they hurting me? Have I not been good?
III
Listen. Nothing. It is only the night
beating in my ears. I had thought for a moment
I heard crying. I thought I heard
something strange above me coming closer.
It is nothing. Only the house around me.
Only my children sleeping.
IV
Bombs into blood and bone. What a way
to celebrate Christ. What a way
to cross a threshold, to mark a millennium,
to close or open a door, to punctuate time.
But then again, why not?
V
Cancer and I are old friends.
He has spoken to me often through the eyes
of the people who made me. An old friend.
He's welcome, but like all guests
there's an etiquette to be observed; to be polite
he should know his time. Mostly he does, he understands.
And given that, he's a gentleman. He leaves time
to organise things. He's civilised.
He's not a bomb.
VI
Thank you god of future times for the gift
of forgetfulness. Why would I want to remember this?
VII
What is a gift if it is not a sacrifice?
If a gift has not entailed a sacrifice
how can it be a gift?
What is it worth?
|