In the Port

Reuven Iceland

First Half of the 20th Century

You strangers with the broad, thick-veined hands,
Crooked legs and faces hard as leather,
Smelling of sea and tar
And of the rust of thick anchor chains;
Oh, you, strangers to all nations and tongues,
Yet hearing the filth and mold of everywhere
With the longing for another sky;
Oh, you, whose shoulders sprout spite,
Take me in!

Translated by
Ben
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