In the middle of a street,
Hands of fog
Blindfolded my eyes, my world:
— Guess who?
Familiar names popped up:
— Miriam, Golda, Reyzel …
— No, no.
— Whose hands are those, whose?
— You were the rainbow-grass in my tears!
And all of a sudden
The voice changed
Into a living soul.
Had I met my own self?
It would not have happened:
— You? How did you come back, resurrec — — —
And she smiled with her violet eyebrows:
— The fire didn't like me.
Well, no is no.
Then I mutely whispered to my dearest:
— I could not believe that fire
Would have a heart to swallow you. Now
A life long I won't be able to believe,
And disbelief torments my rest like dew:
That you are living, intimate, you, you.
Abraham Sutzkever's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Encounter by Abraham Sutzkever )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(1644 - 1694)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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