“Clara (Benito’s Dream)” by Scott Walker (lyrics)

From The Drift (2006)

On 28 April 1945 Benito Mussolini was taken for execution by members of the commitee of National Liberation for Nothern Italy. Claretta Petacci insisted on dying with him. They were shot, the bodies piled into a truck and taken to the Piazalle Loreto in Milan to be strung up by the heels side by side, their heads about six feet from the ground. They were mocked, vilified and riddled with bullets by the crowd that had gathered.

Birds


Birds


This is not a cornhusk doll
Dipped in blood in the moonlight
Like what happen in America


This is us
Our eyesides snagged
Dipped in mob in the daylight
Like what happen in America


The breasts are still heavy
The legs long and straight
The upper lip remains short
The teeth are too small
The eyeside is green
The hair long and black
Still coming through
Still coming through


She knows this room
She can navigate it in the dark
She entered the Palazzo at night by a side door
To ascend to a lift in the upper floor
She lies on the bed
Looking up not yet seeing
The signs of the zodiac painted in gold
On the blue vaulted ceiling
His enormous eyes as he arrives
Coming nearer in the surrounding darkness
His strange beliefs about the moon
Its influence upon men of affairs
The danger of its cold light on your face
While you were sleeping
She’ll eclipse it with her head
Stroke him ‘til he sleeps
Until he has nothing to do among men of affairs


Sometime before dawn
Her bare feet cross the floor
She gazes from the window
At the fountain in the courtyard


“Sometimes I feel like a swallow
A swallow which by some mistake
Has gotten into an attic
And knocks its head against the walls in terror”


This is not a rabbit skinned
With a body of silver
Like what happen in America


This is not a terrapin
With its shell torn away
Like what happen in America


The breasts are still heavy
The legs long and straight
The upper lip remains short
The teeth are too small
The eyeside is green
The hair long and black
Still coming through
Still coming through
The mood soon changed
In the clear morning air
A man came up towards the body
And poked it with a stick
It rocked swiftly 
And twisted around at the end of the rope


Finer than a hair from every side
Finer than a hair


Birds.


Birds.


This is just a cornhusk doll
Dipped in blood in the moonlight
This is just a cornhusk doll


This morning in my room
A little swallow was trapped
It flew around desperately
Until it fell exhausted on my bed
I picked it up
So as not to frighten it
I opened the window
Then I opened my hand

Publicado por

Gabriel Rojo

Gabriel Rojo holds a degree in English from the UTN-INSPT, where he currently teaches 20th Century Culture, Language and Didactics. Gabriel is also a recording artist. His musical project, "The Tape Recorders," employs vocal samples from beloved poets and thinkers.

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