Monday, September 3, 2007 2:40:00 PM
poetry, translation, herbert, polish
MR COGITO COMES ACROSS A STATUETTE
OF THE GREAT MOTHER IN THE LOUVRE
This little cosmology of fired clay
slightly larger than a hand comes from Boeotia
at the top her head like the holy mountain Meru
from which hair falls - the earth's great rivers
her neck is the heavens warmth pulses there
sleepless constellations
a necklace of clouds
send us the holy water of abundance
you from whose fingers leaves grow
we born of clay
like the ibis the snake and the grass
we want you to hold us
in your mightly palms
on her belly the square earth
under guard of a double sun
we don't want other gods our flimsy dwelling of air
is enough a stone a tree the simple names of things
please carry us heedfully from one night to another
then blow out our senses at the question's threshold
in the display case the abandoned mother
watches with the astonished eye of a star
Zbigniew Herbert, Mr Cogito, 1974. (transl. Alissa Valles)
Monday, March 12, 2007 1:03:17 PM
translation, tsvetaeva, poetry, russian
After a sleepless night the body gets weaker,
It becomes dear and not yours - and nobody's.
Just like a seraph you smile to people
And arrows moan in the slow arteries.
After a sleepless night the arms get weaker
And deeply equal to you are the friend and foe.
Smells like Florence in the frost, and in each
Sudden sound is the whole rainbow.
Tenderly light the lips, and the shadow's golden
Near the sunken eyes. Here the night has sparked
This brilliant likeness - and from the dark night
Only just one thing - the eyes - are growing dark.- Marina Tsvetaeva, 'Insomnia', from: Psyche (1923), translation Ilya Shambat.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007 8:40:52 PM
polish, herbert, translation, poetry
All man's organs are bald and smooth. The stomach, intestines, lungs, are bald. Only the heart has hair - reddish, thick, sometimes quite long. This is a problem. The heart's hair inhibits the flow of blood like water plants. The hair is often infested with worms. You have to love very deeply to pick these quick little parasites from you beloved's cardiac hair.- Zbigniew Herbert, from: Study of the Object (1961), translation Alissa Valles.[/size][/font]