Gedicht

EURYDICE

A human has a body
Just one, like one alone,
The soul has had enough
Of its continuous frame
With all its ears and eyes
The size of a silver coin
And skin like scarves on scarves,
As if hung on a rack.

It flies out through the cornea
Into the heavenly clearness,
Upon the icy spoke,
Upon the bird-drawn chariot
And listens through the bars
Of its own living prison
To the crack of woods and fields,
To the horn of seven seas.

A bodiless soul is shameful,
Like a body without its garment, - 
No reasoning or deed,
No impetus or line.
A riddle without solution:
Who will return again,
From dancing on that stage,
Where nobody is dancing?

And I dream of another
Soul dressed in different clothes:
It burns and runs across
From timidity to hope,
With fire that leaves the earth,
Like spirit without a shadow,
Leaving a bunch of lilac
On the table for remembrance.

Run, child, don't lament
For poor Eurydice,
And chase your copper hoop
With a stick around the world,
While, still hardly audible,
Joyfully and dryly,
In answer to each step
The earth resounds in your ears. 

arseni tarkowski