Ripe Faces Poem by Abraham Sutzkever

The eye of my soul weeps images —
For itself as for another,
For another as for itself.
The eye of my soul weeps images
As sunset weeps clouds:
Where and to whom to confide?

I burned up my desk. It's a disgrace
To bow down to wood. I exchanged it for a wild night
Of struggle in the desert, where an eagle whirled,
Where the eye of my soul weeps images,
Pristine images imploring: Describe, describe —
For yourself as for another world.

1968