Portal de Periódicos da CAPES

Where All His Time Was Spent

2017; Duke University Press; Volume: 14; Issue: 3 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1215/15476715-3921224

1558-1454

Jason Allen,

Pop sanded and stained hardwood floorsuntil his spine revolted, until the chemicalshad seeped into his bloodstream and crackedhis calloused hands. Because of his bulgingbags of dust, because of all those years of steeringthose monstrous motors, with their punishingdecibels like a thousand rawhide beltswhipping at once against the boards,because his work had induceda constant ringing in his eardrums,that same tinnitus as Van Gogh,I could never work quite hard enougheven though I rode my bike at midnightat twelve years old, to return from the scaldingplates and sauce pots, garbage cans and mopsof that Italian restaurant, even after years of carryingbag after bag of Portland cement and flats of asphaltshingles on my shoulder, even as I honored himwith a burning back and stooping gait—his suffering would always be the beatificpose on the cross. I could never compete,not with the next lawnmower or sledge,not with the paintbrush or pen;I’ve spent so many yearshunched like Sisyphus, writing thisrolling boulder of a poem,attempting to animatethe man with giant hands,desperate to enliven the echoesin the empty spaceswhere all his timewas spent.