These days lights come on earlier everywhere in the dark. But the time's too short to see you, that white of your eye. Love's like breath in the air at a mouth opened by astonishment. I feel your hand in my pocket. It's warm, warms my second Life. The mouth's talking slowly to itself about…
trans. Polish Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh By saying: “How can I fight for human rights, when I've got a wife and child?,” you yourself sentence them to a punishment whose measure is unknown even to the executioners.
The ones who do see some things. A cloud beautifies the sky. There's smoke over a chimney. I went off, got in my own way. Meanwhile, stories come to me about human contradiction or the climbing of ladders. You can anticipate the fall. It happens as simply as possible. People moving see it differently. The…
After a talk with my would-be publisher I myself don't know who's the author of my book. (The state, the paper allocations, the moon's pull, or other circumstances?) It'll only be half an answer: The author of my book is the Polish language 1973/1975
Poplars, embankments, the Loire behind them. The upper Danube's not so broad, from river to river the light's so different. One doesn't need geography for feelings. Birds fly up the branches. Watch us. Feelings are vulnerable. Strange bodies rub together, our bodies. Someone plants a kiss between navel and shame. A doorknob turns on a…
Only my enemy for all time, The abominable black queen, Has had nerve equal to mine In helpin her inept king. Inept and cowardly mine too — that's understood: From the very start he's crouched Behind his row of plucky pawns, Then fled across the chessboard, Askew, ridiculous, with little stumbling steps. Battles are not…
ALLEGRO NON TANTO It's getting dark. But don't turn on the light. I like to look at your eyes in the dusk. Tell me then! How's Vienna? Do they still sell in the market bunches of lavender, that sweet fragrance of bygone loves from the end of the millenium? My mother used to put them…
You mean that — halfway through, With the game all but over — you would like To change the rules of play? You know perfectly well it's not allowed. To castle under threats? Or go so far — if I am not mistaken — As to replay the moves you made when you began? Come…
The rain had long since stopped. In the pilgrimage church in Moravia, where I had sought shelter from a storm, they were chanting a Marian song which stopped me from leaving. I used to listen to it back home. The priest had genuflected at the steps and left the altar, the organ had sobbed and…
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