MOTION

You’re crying here, but there they’re dancing

There they’re dancing in your tear.

There they’re happy, making merry,

They don’t know a blessed thing.

Almost the glimmering of mirrors.

Almost candles flickering.

Nearly staircases and hallways.

Gestures, lace cuffs, so it seems.

Hydrogen, oxygen, hose rascals.

Chlorine, sodium, a pair of rogues.

The fop nitrogen parading

up and down, around, about,

beneath the vault, inside the dome.

Your crying’s music to their ears.

Yes, eine kleine Nachtmusik.

Who are you, lovely masquerader.

Translated from Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh

THE TOWER OF BABEL

"What time is it?" "Oh yes, I'm so happy;
all I need is a little bell round my neck
to jingle over you while you're asleep."
"Didn't you hear the storm? The north wind shook
the walls; the tower gate, like a lion's maw,
yawned on its creaking hinges." "How could you
forget? I had on that plain gray dress
that fastens on the shoulder." "At that moment,
myriad exploswns shook the sky." "How could I
come in? You weren't alone, affer all." "I glimpsed
colors older than sight itself" "Too bad
you can't promise me." "You're right, it must have been
a dream." "Why all these lies; why do you call me
by her name; do you still love her?" "Of course,
I want you to stay with me." "I can't
complain. I should have guessed myself."
"Do you still think about him?" "But I'm not crying."
"That's all there is?" "No one but you."
"At least you're honest." "Don't worry,
I'm leaving town." "Don't worry,
I'm going." "You have such beautiful hands."
"That's ancient historv; the blade went through,
but missed the bone." "Never mind, darling,
never mind." "I don't know
what time it is, and I don't care.