Zbigniew Herbert Poems

I

I can't find the title
of a memory about you
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In paradise the work week is fixed at thirty hours
salaries are higher prices steadily go down
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I was playing in the street
no one paid attention to me
as I made forms out of sand
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During his great speech the prosecutor
kept piercing me with his yellow index finger
I'm afraid I didn't appear self-assured
unintentionally I put on a mask of fear and depravity
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We walk by the sea-shore
holding firmly in our hands
the two ends of an antique dialogue
—do you love me?
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This will be a night in deep snow
which has the power to muffle steps
in deep shadow transforming
bodies to two puddles of darkness
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Now that we’re alone we can talk prince man to man
though you lie on the stairs and see more than a dead ant
nothing but black sun with broken rays
I could never think of your hands without smiling
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I’ve decided to return to the emperor’s court
once more I shall see if it’s possible to live there
I could stay here in this remote province
under the full sweet leaves of sycamores
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Inadvertently I passed the border of her teeth and swallowed
her agile tongue. It lives inside me now, like a Japanese fish. It
brushes against my heart and my diaphragm as if against the walls
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1
in the fourth book of the Peloponnesian War
Thucydides tells among other things
the story of his unsuccessful expedition
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