I

 

The Poet’s voice :

 

I had once a Ka.

 

In the White China days,

Eve,

stepping into the ice

expelled from Andrei's balloon,

her naked feet,

what a wish,— [ The voice of someone shouting " Go ! " ]

left imprinted on Eskimo snows,

she would not expect to hear such word.

AM Narrator :

 

The prologue : no character is on stage.

 

 

The Poet’s voice :

 

Though times ago in Masr

Ka was already known to men.

 

Quite correctly,

they split in three the soul :

Khu and Bha :

a man's fame,

bad or good,

and Ka,

a replica and shadow of the soul,

sent among the ones a snoring sir dreams of.

 

Time is no barrier for Ka.

He glides from dream to dream,

he cuts through time,

he reaches the bronze of the Ages.

The centuries are his rocking chair.

True,

like chairs in a room,

consciousness also joins the times together.

 

Ka was vivacious,

graceful, tanned, loving.

An Egyptian profile :

wide tuberculous eyes,

Dotted eyebrows.

 

Now, some notes on me.

I live in a city,

lots of misspelled signs.

Ingenious barbarians

keep their eyes cautiously

staring at you.

They climb the trees

served by breeds of rabbits.

 

Here in the city streets

finefur people

always graze in herds.

The ideal of the day : human studs,

Krenov Farms style.

" Or else mankind is finished ! ", they say.

 

I have my own little zoo of friends,

all dear to me for their fine lineage.

I live in the third rock from the sun,

and I like treating it like gloves :

you can always throw them to the rabbits.

What else can I tell you ?

I foresee terrible wars

on the spelling of my name.

I have no mandible-legs,

no breast-heads,

no mustache-antennas.

My height :

taller than an ant,

smaller than an elephant.

Two eyes.

Enough of me ...

 

Ka was my friend.

I loved him for his bird moods,

his calmness, his panache.

Ka was comfy like a raincoat.

He taught me about words,

eye-words, good for seeing,

hand-words, good for making.

 

And here are

some other things he did.

 

 

[ END OF SCENE ]

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