Mark Strand - Residue (English Translation) lyrics

From everything a little remained. From my fear. From your disgust. From stifled cries. From the rose a little remained. A little remained of light caught inside the hat. In the eyes of the pimp a little remained of tenderness, very little. A little remained of the dust that covered your white shoes. Of your clothes a little remained, a few velvet rags, very very few. From everything a little remained. From the bombed-out bridge, from the two blades of gra**, from the empty pack of cigarettes a little remained. So from everything a little remains. A little remains of your chin in the chin of your daughter. A little remained of your blunt silence, a little in the angry wall, in the mute rising leaves. A little remained from everything in porcelain saucers, in the broken dragon, in the white flowers, in the creases of your brow, in the portrait. Since from everything a little remains, why won't a little of me remain? In the train travelling north, in the ship, in newspaper ads, why not a little of me in London, a little of me somewhere? In a consonant? In a well? A little remains dangling in the mouths of rivers, just a little, and the fish don't avoid it, which is very unusual. From everything a little remains. Not much: this absurd drop dripping from the faucet, half salt and half alcohol, this frog leg jumping, this watch crystal broken into a thousand wishes, this swan's neck, this childhood secret... From everything a little remained: from me; from you; from Abelard. Hair on my sleeve, from everything a little remained; wind in my ears, burbing, rumbling from an upset stomach, and small artifacts: bell jar, honeycomb, revolver cartridge, aspirin tablet. From everything a little remained. And from everything a little remains. Oh, open the bottles of lotion and smoother the cruel, unbearable odor of memory. Still, horribly, from everything a little remains, under the rhythmic waves under the clouds and the wind under the bridges and under the tunnels under the flames and under the sarcasm under the phlegm and under the vomit under the cry from the dungeon, the guy they forgot under the spectacle and under the scarlet d**h under the libraries, asylums, victorious churches under yourself and under your feet already hard under the ties of family, the ties of cla**, from everything a little always remains. Sometimes a bu*ton. Sometimes a rat.