D. J. ENRIGHT

AN OLD STORY

There were to be a thousand of them, Buddhas or something akin,

And every one of them different. He had finished 999,

And they were all and each, in some particular, different.

He had worked as fast as he could, but time was running out.

Now they came puffing up the hillside, abbots and priests,

Provincial governors and the usual lackeys, also (he feared)

An executioner from the Board of Punishments, severe of mien.

He strove to imagine the thousandth and its peculiar uniqueness.  They were round the corner, the tally-man was shouting

"990...995...998..." The executioner pursed his lips,

While the priests and the governors shapes the beginnings of a

Discreet smile. The Emperor was a stickler for punctuality.

The niche at least was ready. He jumped into it, cocking his head

And raising his hands in what he hoped was a brand-new position -

With luck they wouldn't notice that the thousandth was alive...

It wasn't. Some benign and witty divinity turned him into stone.

The sculptor was sculpture, the master his own masterpiece.

Much later came the new, the young, the red-blooded, licensed

To renounce the past and all his works. Ancient philosophers

Had been tried and condemned in absentia. Recent poets

Were sent to clean out latrines. The watchword was "Realism!"

And now came the turn of the thousand Buddhas or whatever -

Equally unreal and irrelevant - they were. Crash, crash went

The sledge-hammers, demolishing the minute particulars and

Reducing uniquenesses. There was much to be done and undone.

They hastened to the thousandth. Crash went the hammers.

See, he has lost his head. But otherwise he is all there.

Which can hardly de said of some among us standing here,

Encouraged to gawk, now that policies have been slightly reversed

And the past is permitted. And we mutter ruefully an apt

And innocuous proverb; "Easier to pull down than build up".

Cocking our heads, unsure what to do with our hands.

                            xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

UMA VELHA HISTÓRIA

Deveria haver mil deles, Budas ou algo semelhante,

E cada um deles diferente. Tinha acabado 999,

E todos e cada um, nalgum pormenor, eram diferentes.

Tinha trabalhado tão depressa quanto pudera, mas o tempo estava a      esgotar-se.

Agora vinham resfolegando, pelo monte acima, abades e padres,

Governadores provinciais e os lacaios do costume; também (receava)

Um carrasco da Comissão de Castigos, de semblante severo.

Esforçou-se para imaginar o milésimo e a sua singularidade               particular.

Estavam já à esquina e o verificador berrava

"990... 995... 998..." O carrasco franzia os lábios,

Enquanto os padres e os governadores desenhavam os inícios de um

Sorriso discreto. O Imperador era rigoroso na pontualidade.

O nicho, por fim, estava pronto. Saltou para o interior, inclinando a   cabeça

E erguendo as mãos no que esperava ser uma posição totalmente   nova -

Com sorte não reparariam que o milésimo estava vivo...

Não estava. Alguma divindade benigna e arguta transformara-o em   pedra.

O escultor era escultura, o mestre a sua própria obra-prima.

Muito depois chegou o novo, o jovem, o de sangue quente autorizado

A renunciar ao passado e todas as suas obras. Filósofos antigos

Tinham sido julgados e condenados in absentia. Poetas recentes

Foram enviados para limpar latrinas. A palavra de ordem era   "Realismo!"

E chegou, então, a vez dos mil Budas ou o que fosse -

Tão irreais como irrelevantes - é o que eram. Bumba, bumba caíam

Os martelos pneumáticos, demolindo os pormenores minuciosos e

Esmagando a singularidade. Havia muito que fazer e desfazer,

Apressaram-se para o milésimo. Bumba, caíram os martelos.

Vejam, ele perdeu a cabeça. Mas, de resto, está todo ali.

O que mal se pode dizer de alguns de nós aqui presentes,

Encorajados a ficar de boca aberta, agora que as políticas foram   ligeiramente revertidas

E o passado é permitido. E murmuramos lugubremente um apto

E inócuo provérbio: "Mais fácil derrubar que construir".

Inclinando as cabeças, inseguros quanto ao que fazer das mãos.