May Day

In my twenties and thirties, I often attended the May Day Parade in Minneapolis. A mash-up of workers issues, grassroots politics, and pagan spirit. I loved it. The parade always culminated with a ceremony enacted by dancers and giant puppets in which Winter is vanquished and the Tree of Life reborn.

In recent decades, having moved away from the big city to a smaller town, the 1st of May passes without much fanfare. Still, I look forward to this day each year, but it's become a quiet milestone, a much more personal event.

The Greek poet Yannis Ritsos, whose work I've admired for close to thirty years, was born May 1st, 1909. Here's a poem of his that I translated and printed for May Day in 2002 because of its parallels with the endless cycle of the seasons, Spring's poetic life written into existence each year by the creative earth.

DEATH-PLEDGE
He said: I believe in poetry, in death,
which is why I believe in Immortality.
I write down a line; I write down the world.
I'm created; the world is created.
From the tip of my finger flows a river.
The sky is seven times as blue. Such clarity
is the very first truth, my final wish.

Posted on 02 de maio de 2017, 12:53 AM by