Primo Levi

 

Agave

I am neither useful nor beautiful, 
Have no pleasing colours or scents; 
My roots eat into cement, 
And my thorn-edged leaves - 
Sharp as swords - protect me. 
I'm mute. I speak only my plant language, 
Hard for you, man, to understand: 
An out-of-use language, 
Exotic, since I come from far away, 
From a cruel country 
Full of wind, poisons and volcanoes. 
I've waited many years before sending up 
This towering desperate flower of mine, 
Ugly, wooden, stiff, but stretching towards the sky. 
It's our way of shouting: 
I'll die tomorrow. Now do you understand?

                                        Translated by Ruth Feldman

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