You were hearing the translation
for the first time
and in you and only you
stirred up
the echoes of history
so that you too could live
Max’s voyage
into the occupied territories
and into the zeitgeist
under the Cross
of the Liberation.
I heard you sing
or rather murmur
a few notes
to accompany
the solitude of a train
and even the march
of a man
who gave light
to a sombre night.
The voices on the telephone
were not those of cries
but of the support
of combatants
of the future.