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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540836" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Three poems by heart</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I can't find the title<br>of a memory about you<br>with a hand torn from darkness<br>I step on fragments of faces</div><div style="margin:10px 0">soft friendly profiles<br>frozen into a hard contour</div><div style="margin:10px 0">circling above my head<br>empty as a forehead of air<br>a man's silhouette of black paper</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">living--despite<br>living- -against<br>I reproach myself for the sin of forgetfulness</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you left an embrace like a superfluous sweater<br>a look like a question</div><div style="margin:10px 0">our hands won't transmit the shape of your hands<br>we squander them touching ordinary things</div><div style="margin:10px 0">calm as a mirror<br>not mildewed with breath<br>the eyes will send back the question</div><div style="margin:10px 0">every day I renew my sight<br>every day my touch grows<br>tickled by the proximity of so many things</div><div style="margin:10px 0">life bubbles over like blood<br>Shadows gently melt<br>let us not allow the dead to be killed--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">perhaps a cloud will transmit remembrance--<br>a worn profile of Roman coins</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the women on our street<br>were plain and good<br>they patiently carried from the markets<br>bouquets of nourishing vegetables</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the children on our street<br>scourge of cats</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the pigeons--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">softly gray</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a Poet's statue was in the park<br>children would roll their hoops<br>and colorful shouts<br>birds sat on the Poet's hand<br>read his silence</div><div style="margin:10px 0">on summer evenings wives<br>waited patiently for lips<br>smelling of familiar tobacco</div><div style="margin:10px 0">women could not answer<br>their children: will he return<br>when the city was setting<br>they put the fire out with hands<br>pressing their eyes</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the children on our street<br>had a difficult death<br>pigeons fell lightly<br>like shot down air</div><div style="margin:10px 0">now the lips of the Poet<br>form an empty horizon<br>birds children and wives cannot live<br>in the city's funereal shells<br>in cold eiderdowns of ashes</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the city stands over water<br>smooth as the memory of a mirror<br>it reflects in the water from the bottom</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and flies to a high star<br>where a distant fire is burning<br>like a page of the Iliad</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Zbigniew+Herbert">Zbigniew Herbert</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540836" data-title="Three poems by heart de Zbigniew Herbert" data-description="I

I can't find the title
of a memory about you
with a hand torn from darkness
I step on fragments of faces

soft friendly profiles
frozen into a hard contour

circling above my head
empty as a forehead of air
a man's silhouette of black paper

II..."></div>
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