Andrey Voznesensky: Goya

I am Goya!
My eyes plucked to craters
       by the enemy
             swooping low over bare ground.

I am grief.

I am the groan
Of war, charred cities,
       on the snows of 'forty-one.

I am hunger.

I am the gullet.
Of the hanged woman, whose body
       like a bell
             tolls over the naked square....

I am Goya!

Oh, grapes
Of Wrath! With a salvo I hurled to the West
             the ashes of the uninvited guests!

And in the memorial sky I hammered sturdy stars
Like nails.

I am Goya.


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