Yesterday I went downtown, and came right back again.
A guy was pontificating in the crowded subway,
Addressing even me;
He spoke of justice and Third-World debt
And of workers who suffer
And of endless labour and the hungry,
And the rich who want a flat tax for us all (read them).
Spotting me, he saw my eyes well up
And thought he’d touched me
With all his hate and soi-disant compassion.
(But I wasn’t really listening.
What’s the teeming city to me
And people’s endless suffering?
If they lived on Winnett, they’d feel better.
All the world’s evils come from confrontation,
Whether wanting to do good or bad.
Soul, sky and earth are all that’s needed;
To crave more is to lose this, and be miserable.)
And I, I was thinking
As the people’s self-appointed friend went on,
(And this is what brought me to tears)
How the screech of the subway’s braking
Was so unlike the one-way traffic on Winnett
Where flowers and creek go to adore
And my neighbour drives his car backwards –
at least he’s pointed in the right direction.
(Louvado seja Deus que não sou bom,
E tenho o egoísmo natural das flores
E dos rios que seguem o seu caminho
Preocupados sem o saber
Só com o florir e ir correndo.
É essa a única missão no Mundo,
Essa – existir claramente,
E saber fazê-lo sem pensar nisso.)
E o homem calara-se, olhando o poente.
Mas que tem com o poente quem odeia e ama?
(Lucky I’m not made for doing good
And just have the natural egoism of flowers,
The egoism of creeks that follow waterways even underground,
Concentrating without plans
On flourishing and coursing.
And this is the sole aim of world,
This – to exist in the clear –
And do so, without thinking.)
And the guy fell silent, exiting onto Front Street,
gazing dumbstruck to the west, toward Mississauga.
That’s where sunset blazes in Toronto!
Maybe he senses there’s a creek there… but he’ll never find it…