Inside Me Poem by Abraham Sutzkever

For Barbara and Benjamin Harshav

I

Inside me, a twig of sounds sways toward me, as before.
Inside me, rivers of blood are not a metaphor.

Inside me, they gather,
Those who blessed me, those who rose
Against me:
My great friends and my little enemies.
Inside me, it feels so warm with them, and more.
Inside me, rivers of blood are not a metaphor.

Inside me, my friends the wonder people
Gave me their breath, a moment before
I lost my own between the whip and the gore.
Inside me, rivers of blood are not a metaphor.

Star-shards on the eyes. A lash quivers.
I thank the wonder people, the wonder givers
Of silence alighting on my head. As of yore.
Inside me, rivers of blood are not a metaphor.

II

In — side, in — sight:
I rolled
Mountains into an abyss —
Still not enough.
A volcano looming
Closer,
Its lava barely breathing,
Stone.

In — side, in — sight:
A blind Samson praying,
For strength to bring down
The pillars of sun.

Then he will lose
His blindness.
Big pupils will see on the bottom of the sea
The treasures sought in the dark.
By the last dark,
Couldn't find in the dark.
The treasures, without them might
Life and death be unbearably
Light.

In — side, in — sight:
Both life and death are truly light.

III

I must not drain it altogether. I must not.
Even if the well may not well up forever
With new riddles, even
When lips kneel from above — to kiss them.

I must not drain the black honey,
The sweet lunacy of my bones,
Even when lips kneel from above:
Pity us,
Let us quench our thirst with fire.

Oh, lips, lips, I love you more
Than all the fruits of the world, but I must not.
On the bottom, I must leave the sight:
My Lord and Guardian.

Two slender feet of sunset quiver
In rainweb.
The deep sight
Becomes pupils of light.

IV

Two-legged grasses, familiar faces,
Come to my home, my four-walled places.
They kiss the mezuzah and sneak pretty
Fast into my bed where I mumble: Take pity,
Winged woe, reveal your expertise
Of stinging poison into my mind, into my memories,
Of blowing every bitter spark in hiding.

Two-legged grasses, do you bring good tiding?

Two-legged grasses, solve the riddle for me:
What creature would rejoice in iron combs sweeping
Body and soul?
Who would rejoice in such a reaping?
One moment, please,
One more question:
Shall I leave to you my legacy, my vow?

The two-legged grasses piously bow.

1988