How We Were Introduced
—for perfidious protectorsI was playing in the street no one paid attention to me as I made forms out of sand mumbling Rimbaud under my breath once an elderly gentleman overheard it —little boy you are a poet just now we are organizing a grass-roots literary movement he stroked my dirty head gave me a large lollypop and even bought clothes in the protective coloring of youth I didn’t have such a splendid suit since first communion short trousers and a wide sailor’s collar black patent leather shoes with a buckle white knee-high socks the elderly gentleman took me by the hand and led the way to the ball other boys were there also in short trousers carefully shaven shuffling their feet —well boys now it’s time to play why are you standing in the corners asked the elderly gentleman —make a circle holding hands but we didn’t want tag or blindman’s buff we had enough of the elderly gentleman we were very hungry so we were seated promptly around a large table given lemonade and pieces of cake now disguised as adults with deep voices the boys got up they praised us or slapped us on our hands we didn’t hear anything didn’t feel anything staring with great eyes at the piece of cake that kept melting in our hot hands and this sweet taste the first in our lives disappeared inside our dark sleeves
Zbigniew Herbert
Other author posts
Our Fear
Our fear does not wear a night shirt does not have owl’s eyes does not lift a casket lid does not extinguish a candle does not have a dead man’s face either our fear is a scrap of paper found in a pocket ‘warn Wójcik the place on Dluga Street is h...
Lament
To the memory of my And now she has over her head brown clouds of rootsa slim lily of salt on the temples beads of sandwhile she sails on the bottle of a boat through foaming nebulasA mile beyond us where the river turnsvisible-invisible as t...
From The Top Of The Stairs
Of course those who are standing at the top of the stairs know they know everything with us it's different sweepers of squares hostages of a better future those at the top of the stairs appear to us rarely with a hushing finger always at the mouth...
The Ardennes Forest
Cup your hands to scoop up sleepas you would draw a grain of waterand the forest will come: a green clouda birch trunk like a chord of lightand a thousand eyelids flutteringwith forgotten leafy speechthen you will recall the white morningwhen you ...