Imaginary Biography of Graham Greene

Defeat is a type of death:
today you know with certainty
of the horror a child feels when the hummingbirds
cross the window toward the garden
and he looks at them paralyzed
knowing it is sunrise.
Terror is a pest
and you never overcame
the essential discomfort;
remember the silence of the clinics
when the world was the space
you navigated in your wheel chair.
Don't forget the day you discovered
that happiness is ever so fragile
that even a word is able to break it.
Keep in mind that you had to choose
between lies and disgust,
you were a cheating ghost,
keep in mind the errors
committed as a matter of style:
the habit's fresh flesh,
the solitary vice of guilt,
anxiety poorly handled.
It isn't sufficient
to display a cold presence of voice on the past,
nor to vomit the faith's worm.
Don't forget the clear morning sun
between the room, the patio's cherry tree,
the well among the blackberry bushes
the brightness of joy
between the viscose river of horror
and remember that everything one ought to achieve
should already be available, for better or worse.

—Translated by Ilan Stavans