Excerpt from “Elegy for the Departure of Pen, Ink and Lamp”

 

I never believed in the spirit of history

an invented monster with a murderous look

dialectical beast on a leash led by slaughterers

nor in you—four horsemen of the apocalypse

Huns of progress galloping over earthly and heavenly steppes

destroying on the way everything worthy of respect old and defenseless

I spent years learning the simplistic cogwheels of history

a monotonous procession hopeless struggle

scoundrels at the head of confused crowds

against the handful of those who were honest courageous aware

I have very little left

not many

objects

or compassion

light heartedly we leave the gardens of childhood gardens of things

shedding in flight manuscripts oil-lamp dignity pens

such is our illusory journey at the edge of nothingness

pen with an ancient nib forgive my unfaithfulness

and you inkwell—there are still so many good thoughts in you

forgive me kerosene lamp—you are dying in my memory like a deserted campsite

I paid for the betrayal

but I did not know then

you were leaving forever

and that it will be dark

—Zbigniew Herbert

(translated by Bogdana and John Carpenter)