Tale of Sunday: Time to Fly by Ruth Padel

The poem Time to fly by Ruth Padel, of which we offer the translation, is taken from the collection of prose and poems The Mara Crossing. A book on the migration of animals and men. The "Sunday Tale" column was born from the collaboration between First Arte, the literary agency Thesis Contents and the new publishing startup goWare. Its aim is to offer readers short narratives from and of the contemporary world, stories that look at current events, customs, politics and society in the time of going digital.

One of the most original stylistic aspects of this intriguing book by Ruth Padel is precisely the interweaving of prose and poetry. «The alternation between prose and poetry, moving from one place to another, is intrinsic to migration, and in any case I am constantly moving in my mind between humans and animals», said to the "Guardian” the English poet. Then she added: «There are excellent models of prose- with - poetry, my guide is there Vita Nova of Dante who changed European poetry».

Mara Crossing it is an exemplary amalgamation of the two genres, brought to its maximum expressive capacity.

Home is where it all begins, but where is the swallow's home? And what does “native” mean if the English oak immigrated from Spain?

In ninety colorful poems and illuminating prose interludes, the original new book of Ruth Padel intertwines science, myth, wilderness and history to weave a world created and pervaded by migration. “We all come from somewhere,” begins Ruth Padel, tracing the millennial journey of cells, trees and animals. Geese brave the raging winds of Everest, lemurs graze the precipices of Madagascar and wildebeests, at the culmination of their epic journey from Tanzania, bravely ford a river filled with Africa's biggest and hungriest crocodiles.

Human migration has forged civilization, but today it is one of the greatest trials the world is facing. In a series of incisive portraits, Padel, outlines different moments of human migration – the flight to Egypt, the journey to America by John James Audubon (who fed migratory birds en route), migrant workers in Mumbai and refugees struggling in a dramatically changing planet – to show how the purpose of migration for men, animals and plants is survival.

Pugnacious, provocative and supremely inspiring, here is a magnificent glimpse of life in motion from the acclaimed author of Darwin: A Life in Peoms.

You go because you have heard the cuckoo call. Go because
you've met someone, you've made a vow, they're gone
locusts. Go because the cold is coming, spring
it's at the door. Scourges, floods, glaciations,
a new religion, a new idea. You go because the world turns,
because the world is changing and you've lost touch.
You go because you have the kingdom of heaven in your heart
and the kingdom of darkness took possession of another's heart.

You go because you have lodestone in your brain,
in the chest, on top of your teeth. Because the grass is green
on the hill and because there is gold, or maybe bauxite,
inside the hill. You go because your mother is dying
and only you can bring her the apples of the Hesperides.

You go because you need to work.
Go because the astrologers say so — there is the call of the sea — the
your best friend bought a motorcycle
last year in America. Go because the streets are paved
gold and then your father left when he was your age.

Go because you have seventeen little ones and the Lord will provide,
because your sixteen brothers divided up the land
and there is none left for you. You go because the water is rising,
the ice sheet is melting, the river is dry,
there are no more fish in the sea.

Go because Dioti sent a sign
— you had a dream — potatoes are shriveled
because it's too hot, too cold, you are thirsty for knowledge
and knowledge is always beyond.
Go because it's destiny, because the Pharaoh won't let you light candles on Friday at sunset.

Why are you looking
an enchanted lake, the meaning of life, a tall tree to nest on.
Go because the journey is holy, because your body
is made to go, you would have a different body and brain
if you were a bird that doesn't move.
You go because you don't have to pay the rent, the creditors stake out your little ones
after school. Go because the Pharaoh has ambushed
all the oil, electricity and paraffin and what is left on your table it's the candles, when you can grab them.

You go because there is nothing left to hope for;
because there is so much to hope for and all life is a risk.

You go because someone hexed you
and the barometric pressure is dropping. Why can't you
control your talent — others can't do it either —
you have no talent and the barbarians are behind you.

Go because the barbarians have departed, Herod
he turned off the Internet and cell phones, the modem
it's useless and the eagles are coming. Go because the eagles
they died with the vultures and the elders are angry
there is no one left to clean up the bones. Go in peace.
Go to war. Someone has offered you a job. Go because
even the dog is gone.
Because the Grand Vizier sent troops to your house last night,
you must leave quickly and abandon the dog.

You go because you ate the dog and that's it,
there is nothing else.
You go because you quit or you could.
Go because your love
he died — because she laughed at you.
Go because she is going with you:
it will be a great adventure and you will live happily ever after.

You stopped midway to stock up on omega-3s and crabs.
Go for the phosphorus, for the myrtle berries, for the salt. Go for the oil
and pepper. You go because it was your father's last wish.

Away from pole to pole, go because you can,
sleep and mate in flight.
You go because you need a place to take to safety
Skin. Go with a thousand questions but you're growing,
getting older, advancing. Say goodbye to could-have-been:
you cannot cross the river a second time.
Go because hope, purpose and escape
they are names of the same God. Go
because life is sweet, it's easy, life is a flow
and you can't take it with you. Go because you are alive
because you're dying, or maybe you're already dead.

Go because you have to.

Ruth Padel

Ruth Padel (1946) is an English poet and writer with deep ties to nature, ancient Greece and music. You have published a novelWhere the Serpent Lives, 2010); eight wise men (In and Out of the All1992; Whom Gods Destroy: Elements of greek and Tragic Madness1995; I’m to Man: Sex, Gods and Rock 'n' Roll2000; Tigers in Red Weather conditions around Mt. Fuji, 2004) and eight collections of poetry, the most recent of which is The Mara Crossing. He is a member of Royal Society of Literature and of the board of zoological Society of London. She writes and works for the BBC and with poet groups across the UK.