Friday, 30 July 2010

Poem 8, from Stone

A body is given me – what am I to make
From this thing that is my own and is unique

Tell me who it is I must thank for giving
The quiet joy of breathing and living?

I am the gardener, the flower as well,
Never alone in the world’s prison cell.

My warmth, my breathing have already lain
Upon eternity’s window pane.

Imprinted on the glass a pattern shows,
But nowadays a pattern no one knows.

Let the dregs of the moment drain away –
The pattern’s loveliness must stay

1 comment:

  1. So happy to find the translation by Robert Tracy - please give the translator credit since there are several other translations that are not nearly as poetic as this one.

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