AVVENTURA PASSWAY
But only the elite hold these candles of darkness in the light
of the passage : move along, see the light at the end as it
beckons. I do not know what it is - once a man said
'it's a train coming at you.' I shudder to think of the truth
of that line. Here, now, look : this mountain has been
cut away, this passage put through. Rail and road,
together, bringing forth people on their ways, to
sometime other things and places.
-
These Swiss Alps, that's what you say, to me mark nothing
but expense - of travel, of lodging, of dining beneath that
two-hundred year old frieze of some naked lady eating grapes.
Whatever were they thinking? Oompah, dance-hall, folkways,
rhythm. In my land they call it the Blues.
-
But here I am entered in a new game of chance : I have
traveled bereft of my luggage on SwissAir, and landed
in Bern now so lonely. Five things left in my pockets, I
count. My two pens, remaining in my lapel slip, now have
nowhere to write. There is a man, coming towards me with
an Interpol badge. Brushing by me again, he nods. Should I
ask him about anything at all?
-
The University of Berne, Zentrum, the Federal Palace,
the Historical Museum; what do I care for these things? I
have left behind an identity, yet here can find nothing new.
No cloak to wear, no funny hat, no other meaning. When I
left New York, it was raining. They say it only rains here
ten times a year. I guess I shall be on my way.
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