The factory whistles are summoning you. Your steps can be heard hurrying through the damp cold of the morning. The chill reminds you that you’re strong, so you’ve no desire to resist it. Your soft bodies, no longer saturated with the warmth of the bed, of the wife, your bodies obey you. How I’d like to tell you that you fall like dew on flowers!
When you get to your factories—the worker belongs in the factory, that’s his true place—you regain your gravity slowly. The first of your gestures to rediscover the lathe, the drill press, the workbench, all these gestures are still full of sleep, similar to your movements at night: in a very brief moment of wakefulness, not knowing which side of the bed you’re on, you begin to grope blindly with your hands until you find the wife and fall back asleep, in a hurry to continue the dream.
Here, before your workbench, you’re not allowed to fall asleep. Here you become heavier and heavier.
Good morning, workers!
The peasants have risen before you. The peasants are in the field much earlier to get ready for the spring plowing.
Svetlana Cârstean (born 1969) Romania
Translated by Adam J. Sorkin and Claudia Serea
Source Diode Vol.4 No.2
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