By Henrik Eger
Informer. Edited BBC series poster.
To the victims
Today I was driven through town
with an informer at the wheel:
without anything being said, I
constantly stared at strangers and
friends in the streets as if I could
read . . . .
and . . .
store . . . .
their . . . . .
thoughts . . . . . . .
Entering my home, alone . . . . .
I didn’t trust . . . . .
my own . . .
keys . . . .
any more, let alone . . . . .
the traffic . . . . . .
in . .
my . .
brain . . . . .
(written in Kerman, like most other poems below, immediately upon arriving at home, with a SAVAK agent who had offered to give me a ride to my house)
If you are interested in publishing or adapting this copyrighted poem by setting it to music, staging or filming it, etc., please contact the author.
Today I was driven through town
with an informer at the wheel:
without anything being said, I
constantly stared at strangers and
friends in the streets as if I could
read . . . .
and . . .
store . . . .
their . . . . .
thoughts . . . . . . .
Entering my home, alone . . . . .
I didn’t trust . . . . .
my own . . .
keys . . . .
any more, let alone . . . . .
the traffic . . . . . .
in . .
my . .
brain . . . . .
(written in Kerman, like most other poems below, immediately upon arriving at home, with a SAVAK agent who had offered to give me a ride to my house)
If you are interested in publishing or adapting this copyrighted poem by setting it to music, staging or filming it, etc., please contact the author.
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