A KNIFE
I always keep tight in my belt
An african small knife of steel
-The kind that niggers use to play with-
Which from an old man I have bought in Algiers.
That ole fripper I recall as if 't were now
He an old oil painting by Goya resembled
Standing close to swords long and uniforms torn
Speaking such words with hoarse his voice:
"This knife you seak to buy here
Legend has sashed with stories weird.
For all who had it in the past,
their own people are known to 've killed.
Poor Don Basilio killed with that his precious Dona Julia
So fair and beautiful his spouse, for knowing she deceived him.
Conte Antonio one dark night, his unfortunate brother
Secretly finished him for good with this very same knife.
One crazy nigger jealous of his young and tender mistress
And some Italian sailor a greek botswain has slaughtered.
From hand to hand it fin'ly came to be my own possession
So much my eyes have so far seen, but this brings awe and terror.
Bend here a little, take a look, the anchor and the emblem
It is so light, just feel the weight, it's less than uno quarto,
But I would give you one advice, find something else to buy friend!".
-How much is it?
"Just seven franks. You want it, fine, you get it!!"
A dagger small of shining steel I hold in my belt tight
It was for reasons of caprice I bought and made it mine;
And since there's noone that I hate, to murder with this weapon
I 'm scared that it might come a time against myself to turn it.
Poetry in greek by Nikos Kavadias
Poorly translated in english by V.N.
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