Опять в сердце попал мне Збигнев Херберт. Давненько...

Again, Zbigniew Herbert hit me in the heart. Long time ago he did not drop in

Divination

Deeper line in the valley of the palm
in the hole where the spring of rock beats
here is the line of life look flying arrow
the horizon of five fingers is cleared up by a stream
what rushes forward sweeping away barriers
and what can be more powerful and magnificent
than this rampant aspiration

like the wingless line of constancy next to her
like a shout of night
starting in the sand she leaves in the sand
or goes somewhere deeper under the skin
through the muscle tissue flows into the artery
so that we meet our dead at night
deep down where blood and memory are pulsing
in adit chambers and wells
filled with dark names

this hillock was not - I remember well
there was a nest of sensuality round as if
a tin of hot tin fell into the palm of your hand
I also remember the hair and the shadow on the cheek I remember
brittle fingers and heaviness of the head in a dream
who ravaged the nest who poured
the mound of soullessness that never happened

why cover your face with your hands
we wonder who are you asking