Zbigniew Herbert's "Silk of a Soul"
SILK OF A SOUL
Never did I speak—with her
either about love
or about death
only blind taste and mute touch
used to run between us
when absorbed in ourselves
we lay close
I must peek inside her
to see what she wears
at her centre
when she slept
with her lips open
I peeked
and what and what
would you think
I caught sight of
I was expecting branches
I was expecting a bird
I was expecting a house by a lake
great and silent
but there on a glass counter
I caught sight of
a pair of silk stockings
my God I’ll buy her
those stockings
I’ll buy them but—
what will appear then
on the glass counter
of the little soul
will it be something
which cannot be touched
even with one finger of a dream
Note: Line breaks are mine
Translators of Herbert's "Collected Poems": Milosz, Dale, Valles
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