Poems 0084丨EPISODE IN A LIBRARY丨By Zbigniew Herbert
A blond girl is bent over a poem. With a pencil sharp as a lance she transfers words onto a white sheet of paper and translates them into lines, accents, caesuras. The fallen poet’s lament now looks like a salamander gnawed by ants.
When we carried him off under fire, I believed his still warm body would be resurrected in the word. Now I see words dying, I know that there is no limit to decay. What will remain after us are fragments of words scattered on the black earth. Accent signs over nothingness and ash.
"The Collected Poems 1956-1998"
Publishied by HarperCollins 2007
Translated by ALISSA VALLES
Translated by CZESLAW MILOSZ