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The World, the World, and the World

TEXTS
Souvenir of the Ancient World
Clara strolled in the garden with the children,
The sky was green over the grass,
the water was golden under the bridges,
other elements were blue and rose and orange,
a policeman smiled, bicycles passed,
a girl stepped onto a lawn to catch a bird,
the whole world–Germany, China–all was quiet 
around Clara. 

The children looked at the sky; it was not forbidden.
Mouth, nose, eyes were open. There was no danger. 
What Clara feared were the flu, the heat, the insects.
Clara feared missing the eleven o'clock trolley,
waiting for letters slow to arrive,
not always being able to wear a new dress. But she strolled
in the garden,
in the morning!
They had gardens, they had mornings on those days! 
Carlos Drummond de Andrade (b.1902) trans. Mark Strand 


the alien and the leader
the alien wanted to see our planet. it wanted to go everywhere and see everything. so it contacted the leader and asked for the grand tour. the leader decided to accompany it. 

the alien's cameras never stopped clicking. with its numerous arms holding one camera up to the eyes in the front of its head and another camera to the eyes in back. it made quite a curious sight. at the end of the tour, the alien promised the leader that it would send copies of all its favorite scenes. 

two weeks later, a package came, express mail. it was wrapped and sealed and beautifully bound. when the layers and layers of inner wrappings were unfolded, the leader pulled out a large thick album covered in a material that no one had ever seen or felt before, shimmering and warm. the leader opened the book and started to flip through the pages. then, turned the book sideways, then, upside down. the cabinet members were all given a chance to go through it. then, the scientists were called in. but no one, not even the chief of the scientists, could tell the leader what any of the pictures were taken of. finally after hours of secret deliberations, the leader came up with a brilliant plan to avert a galactic incident with the alien. on beautiful paper, the leader wrote the following note. 

dear alien
thank you for your pictures, they are most beautiful. but, for the enlightenment of future generations on our world, we would all be greatly moved, if you could personally caption your images for us. 

sincerely yours
the leader 

two weeks passed, and nothing came. the leader was certain a terrible galactic faux pas had been committed, by not sending the original album back with the note. the chief cabinet minister, in a quiet moment, confessed that the alien had probably seen through the leader's ploy. the chief of the scientists had thousands of researchers working on the project, certain that the alien was testing earth intelligence in order to explore the possibility of a planetary takeover, and for a few hours there seemed to be a breakthrough over one of the photos. but then, late one friday afternoon, just when everyone was getting ready for a three-day weekend–another package arrived in the mail, again express. it was the same size as the original package, but wrapped in different materials. and when the leader opened it, with the help of the bomb squad and an x-ray detector, it was found to contain a duplicate of the first photo album. this one was bound in another material, also new to those who saw and held it, glittery and soft. this time, it was clear which way was up and which way was down. for, in a tiny, delicate hand, in several earth languages, the alien had dated and labeled each image. 

concentric space between two statues. 

doorway seen through doorway looking out empty window at night sky toward star of origin. 

the particular glow of the lights of the hallway outside the leader's study, which glow will always 
call back to my minds the living presence of the leader and the pleasure of our journey. 

looking down the sink drain in the guest residence of one of the leader's establishments, which 
reminds of journey to this world. 

the shadows of the leader and cabinet ministers, on the asphalt at the central spaceport. 

sunrise reflected in the bottom of a glass, singular sun so different from the suns of homeworld, 
seen through the railing of the balcony of the hundred-and-fourth-floor suite we were staying in. 

ballroom with lights out after party, recalls to minds the voices and laughter and music still 
echoing when all the guests have gone.
Andrew Ramer 


A Song on the End of the World
On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A fisherman mends a glimmering net,
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be. 

On the day the world ends 
Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas,
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable vendors shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry night. 

And those who expected lightning and thunder
Are disappointed.
And those who expected signs and archangel's trumps
Do not believe it is happening now.
As long as the sun and the moon are above,
As long as the bumblebee visits a rose,
As long as rosy infants are born
No One believes it is happening now. 

Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet
Yet is not a prophet, for he's much too busy,
Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:
There will be no other end of the world.
There will be no other end of the world. 
Czeslaw Milosz (b.1911) trans. A.M.