September 29, 2021
“The Black General”
I arrived in the city of Heraklion and checked into the hotel. I turned on the TV while I got settled in. On TV5Monde, a group of intellectuals in well-chosen nonchalant jackets was discussing Rimbaud, Kafka and Gallimard’s new releases.
I should have been like them, I thought enviously.
I could have become like them, I thought, horrified.
There is no Pinochet to reign them in,
No Black Colonel,
No Black General,
I thought with a grin.
So I am the very last Black General, overgrown and useless and grassy, I thought without much emotion, after appending hands, palms, and wrists, like claws, like threads, to the seams.
Translated and reproduced here with the artist’s kind permission by the Russian Reader