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
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
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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