I read you a poem from the section of this book called
"Prisoners".
Which is called, "Thinking about El Salvador."
It was written in 1982 but I think
I'm going to have to drop the date off it unfortunately.
"Because every day they chop heads off I'm silent.
In each person's head they chopped off
was a tongue, for each tongue they silence,
a word in my mouth unsays itself.
From each person's head two eyes looked at the world,
for each gaze they cut a line of seeing unwords itself.
Because every day they chop heads off,
no force flows into language.
Thoughts think themselves worthless.
No blade of machete threatens my neck,
but its muscles cringe and tighten.
My voice hides in its throat cave,
ashamed to sound into that silence, the silence.
Of raped women, of priests and peasants, teachers
and children, of all, whose heads every day float down
the river.
And rot, and sink.
Not Orpheus heads still singing, bound for the sea, but mute."
[APPLAUSE]