TRANSLATED FROM THE ROMANIAN BY VICTOR PAMBUCCIAN

At the Edge of the Graveyard

There’s a place beside grandpa
at the edge of the graveyard
just the right size to forget it all and to
keep him company when the winter night is long.

I’d feel so good in the warm earth
and I’d let my body become grass, good
to be grazed by poor cows looking for shelter
who would likely ask for mercy for me

at the last judgment. I’ll forget
what I’ve been, and scattered around
in new forms I’ll lose even the memory of you…
Tying up my collapsed and empty eyes

to eternity, I’ll rest.
And dandelion lint to fall on me as incense
won’t make me happy or sad
for black is the earth on top of me.

But rains would slowly seep into me
to wash the sins off my bones
and like the root that’s hiding
I’ll foresee the beautiful days to come

and I’ll bring up, in the shape of a flower, out of the earth
the youthful cheek of yesteryear
to be burned by the sun and blown by wind
a passing girl to wear, with joy, in her hair.

My child, don’t look for me

My child, don’t look for me. Everything
Will speak of me in a just tone to you.
After I’ll no longer be,
do not say: “It’s too late for mom.’’

Know that I’ll laugh in flowers
and that I’ll turn several times,
with the clouds and with the rain,
around the grounds where I used to spend my afternoons.

If you are suffering, call me in the evening,
and I’ll come close to your heart,
even if I’ll need to cross horizons
and seas with my wing.

Don’t be afraid of my changed face
Don’t say: “Mom was never like that!’’
You’ll know my voice of fairy tales
in the trees in front of the windows.

Many signs will let you know it’s me,
when I’ll come near your bed
having cooled the air around you,
bringing all the stars down.

You’ll know it’s mother by the peace
and by the way everything is quiet –
pain and tomorrow’s worry –
by the smell of quinces and bread.

You’ll know me and you’ll smile in your sleep.
While I, when I’ll see the sun come up,
afraid that I’ll become dew and I’ll die,
will gather my angels and fly away.

Also, read WISŁAWA SZYMBORSKA AND THE ART OF ‘RYBKA’: AN INTERVIEW WITH MICHAŁ RUSINEK, conducted by Anindita Mukherjee, and published in The Antonym.

Wisława Szymborska and the Art of ‘rybka’: An interview with Michał Rusinek — Anindita Mukherjee

Follow The Antonym’s Facebook page and Instagram account for more content and exciting updates.