Zbigniew Herbert: Все стихи поэта

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To My Bones

In my sleep it rips through

my meagre skin

throws off the red bandage of the flesh

and goes strolling through the room

my monument a little incomplete

one can be prodigal

with tears and blood

what will endure here the longest

by Zbigniew Herbert

When the honey, fruit and flowery tablecloth were whisked from the table in one sweep, it flew of with a start. Entangled in the suffocating smoke of the curtains, it buzzed for a long time. At last it reached the window. It beat its weakening body repeatedly against the cold, solid air of the pane. In the last flutter of its wings drowsed the faith that the body’s unrest can awaken a wind carrying us to longed-for worlds.

You who stood under the window of your beloved, who saw your happiness in a shop window—do you know how to take away the sting of this death?

by Zbigniew Herbert

The Rain

When my older brother

came back from war

he had on his forehead a little silver star

and under the star

an abyss

a splinter of shrapnel

hit him at Verdun

or perhaps at Grünwald

by Zbigniew Herbert

What Our Dead Do

Jan came this morning

—I dreamt of my father

he says

he was riding in an oak coffin

I walked next to the hearse

and father turned to me:

you dressed me nicely

and the funeral is very beautiful

by Zbigniew Herbert

How We Were Introduced

—for perfidious protectors

I 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

by Zbigniew Herbert

The Fable About A Nail

For lack of a nail the kingdom has fallen

—according to the wisdom of nursery schools—but in our kingdom

there have been no nails for a long time there aren’t and won’t be

either the small ones for hanging a picture

on a wall or large ones for closing a coffin

but despite this or maybe because of it

the kingdom persists and is even admired by others

how can one live without a nail paper or string

by Zbigniew Herbert

An Answer

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

we lie holding our breath

and even the slightest whisper of thought

if we are not tracked down by wolves

and the man in a Russian sheepskin who swings

by Zbigniew Herbert

The Emperor's Dream

A crevice! shouts the Emperor in his sleep, and the canopy of ostrich plumes trembles. The soldiers who pace the corridors with unsheathed swords believe the Emperor dreams about a siege. Just now he saw a fissure in the wall and wants them to break into the fortress.

In fact the Emperor is now a wood-louse who scurries across the floor, seeking remnants of food. Suddenly he sees overhead an immense foot about to crush him. The Emperor hunts for a crevice in which to squeeze. The floor is smooth and slippery.