Autumn Eyes

By Hilde Domin

Press yourself close
 to the ground.

The earth
 still smells of summer
 and your body
 still smells of love.

But the grass
is already yellowed above you.
 The wind is cold
 and full of thistledown.

And the dream which waylays you
 shadow-footed
 your dream
 has autumn eyes.

Return

My feet were wondering
 that next to them feet walked
 which didn’t wonder.

I who walk barefoot
 and leave no track
 I always look at people’s shoes.

But the paths celebrated
 meeting again
 with my shy feet.

In February
by my childhood home there bloomed
 an almond tree.

I had dreamt
it would bloom.

The Golden Rope

Nothing is as fleeting
as an encounter.

We play like children
 we invite and reject
 as if we had forever.
 We joke with farewells
 we collect tears like marbles
 and check whether knives cut.
 Too soon your name
is called.
 Too soon playtime
is over.

Scared
 we hold on tightly
 to the golden rope 
and resist the departure.
 But it breaks.
 We drift outwards:
 away from the same town
 away from the same world
 under the same
 all intermingling
 earth.

 
Translated into English by Elke Heckel and Meg Taylor