Pennar Davies
Ave Atque Vale
I love you
though, possibly, we haven't met.
If you're reading this poem of your own free will
you belong to the minority
who presume a poem's worthwhile.
It's a pretty good basis for the relationship
between us.
I love you.
I greet you as a friend.
But because you have been born
you've been condemned to die.
Every greeting's a goodbye.
Someone's probably told you sometime
it's the body that dies
and the soul "escapes"
or "flies off" or "moves on".
Forget it.
The body's not a prison;
and the stuff of the body doesn't die.
By the grace of the worms—or even the fire—
the elements of the flesh have a future
after they've stopped being
parts of you.
They're not your body.
Your body is the image and the shape you have,
and the passion and the pain and the trembling,
the yearnings and the impulses, the life,
your life.
You can't live without your body
but
if you're determined to live,
to keep your body,
you will.
I don't know what sort of stuff will be given you.
There's no scarcity of stuff or kinds of stuff.
So in saying goodbye I greet you.
Every goodbye's a greeting.
Welsh; trans. Joseph P. Clancy
Pennar Davies, Welsh, trans. Joseph P. Clancy.