Ballad of the Black Feringhee
I would rather sing folk songs against injustice
and sound like ash cans in the early morning
or bark like a wolf
from the open doorway of a red-hot freight
than sit like Chopin on my exquisite ass.
—CARL RAKOSI
India it is midnight the tenth of March and I open my palm
India the silver coin doesn’t vanish, the matchbox doesn’t fly into the trees, and I pick the wrong jack
India I’ve hung up my magician’s gloves
India I’ve been betrayed by the tricks learnt in the long narrow rooms of Allahabad, Ljubljana, and Iowa City
India I’ve returned to the brightness of your streets,the regularity of your sounds, the evenness of your days
India I’m going to hypnotise your bricks
India listen to the grass, there’s something going on in Ethiopia
India give me five pounds of rice and I won’t ever leave
India give me a peanut and I’ll shut my window
India my hands are tied and my footprints trapped like wild pigeons
India what are the first principles of ventriloquy
India I was born in the year of your independence
India I’ve been trying to procure a bottle of kerosene
India what will I do when the lights go out
India if you blindfold me I’ll see you better
India will I always have to write in the dark
India the cats are nervous
India where’s my horoscope
India you were an astrological mistake
India I’m afraid of your truckers, shopkeepers, postmen, and herbs
India the man in the street is a shrewd animal
India you don’t transport them in trains
India you don’t tie them to trees and shoot them
India you kill them in “encounters”
India you kill them while they’re trying to “escape”
India your police stations are little Siberias
India when they come for me I’ll put on a clean shirt
India their bullets won’t settle on me like flies
India I want to wrap you in an old newspaper and carry you from door to door
India there’s no need to hide your large teeth
India what a big nose you have
India remember the pile of ash on Mandelstam’s left shoulder
India don’t destroy yourself in slow motion
1974