Said: ‘Tell him that his mother sends no message,
Albeit broken down and miserable.’
Here’s pigeon’s eggs from Duras, and these others
Were laid by your own hens.
seanchan. She has sent no message.
Our mothers know us; they know us to the bone.
They knew us before birth, and that is why
They know us even better than the sweethearts
Upon whose breasts we have lain.
Go quickly! Go
And tell them that my mother is in the right.
There is no answer. Go and tell them that.
Go tell them that she knew me.
mayor. What is he saying?
I never understood a poet’s talk
More than the baa of a sheep!
You have not heard,
It may be, having been so much away,
How many of the cattle died last winter
From lacking grass, and that there was much sickness
Because the poor have nothing but salt fish
To live on through the winter?
