Twelve Narratives of the Gypsy

First Narrative

ARRIVAL

The public roads, capes, forests,

rocks are ours. We’re arriviste always

moving. Homes and fireplaces are meant

for others.

Ibsen

A gypsy nursed him; for this he has wings

Serbian song

Deep darkness is flooded

by a fine whiteness that

resembles the night: this

was my mind’s first dawn

and during the honey-coloured hour

something caressing had

spread softer than

smooth breeze when

it came filled with balsam

of the morning green forests

smoother than soft breeze

and it was in a faraway

land the spring of peoples

and ages: in Thrace.