REPORT FROM A BESIEGED CITY

...Report from the Besieged City, his sixth volume of poems—from which the following poems are taken—appeared in 1983 under the imprint of Kultura in Paris...

...The Abandoned 1 I did not catch the last transport I stayed behind in a town that is not a town without morning or evening newspapers it doesn't have prisons clocks water I enjoy great vacations outside of time I go for long walks through avenues of burned houses avenues of sugar of broken glass of rice 449 I could write a treatise on the sudden transformation of life into archeology 2 There is a huge silence the artillery in the suburbs has choked on its own courage sometimes all that can be heard is the bell of collapsing walls and the light thunder of sheet metal dangling in the air there is a huge silence before the night of the predators at times an absurd airplane appears in the sky it drops leaflets calling for surrender I would do it willingly but there is no one to surrender to 3 I live now in the best hotel the dead porter remains on duty in his room from a hill of rubble I enter directly onto the second floor to the suite of the former mistress of the former chief of police 450 I sleep on sheets of newspapers I cover myself with a poster announcing the final victory in the bar there is still medicine for solitude bottles with yellow fluid and a symbolic label — Johnnie tipping his top hat walking rapidly to the West I have no resentment against anyone that I was abandoned I was short of luck and the right hand on the ceiling a light bulb recalls a skull turned upside down I wait for the victors I drink to the fallen I drink to the deserters I overcame bad thoughts I was abandoned even by the presentiment of death...

...EDS...

...The Trial During his great speech the prosecutor kept piercing me with his yellow index finger I'm afraid I didn't appear self-assured unintentionally I put on a mask of fear and depravity like a rat caught in a trap an informer a fratricide the reporters were dancing a war dance slowly I burned at a stake of magnesia 451 all of this took place in a small stifling room the floor creaked plaster fell from the ceiling I counted knots in the boards holes in the wall faces the faces were alike almost identical policemen the tribunal witnesses the audience they belonged to the party of those without any pity and even my defender smiling pleasantly was an honorary member of the firing squad in the first row sat an old fat woman dressed up as my mother with a theatrical gesture she raised a handkerchief to her dirty eyes but didn't cry it must have lasted a long time I don't know even how long the red blood of the sunset was rising in the gowns of the judges the real trial went on in my cells they certainly knew the verdict earlier after a short rebellion they capitulated and started to die one after the other I looked in amazement at my wax fingers I didn't speak the last word and yet for so many years I was composing the final speech to God to the court of the world to the conscience to the dead rather than the living roused to my feet by the guards I managed only to blink and then the room burst out in healthy laughter my adoptive mother laughed also the gavel banged and this really was the end but what happened after that—death by a noose or perhaps a punishment generously changed to a dungeon I'm afraid there is a third dark solution beyond the limits of time the senses and reason therefore when I wake I don't open my eyes I clench my fingers don't lift my head breathe lightly because truly I don't know how many minutes of air I still have left...

...We thank John Carpenter and Bogdana Carpenter for permission to print their versions of Zbigniew Herbert's poems here...

...What I Saw To the Memory of Kazimierz Moczarski (1956) I saw prophets tearing at their pasted-on beards I saw imposters joining sects of flagellants butchers disguised in sheepskin who fled the anger of the people playing on a block flute I saw I saw I saw a man who had been tortured he now sat safely in the family circle cracked jokes ate soup I looked at the opened mouth his gums—two bramble twigs stripped of bark I saw his whole nakedness the whole humiliation 448 later a solemn meeting many people flowers stifling someone spoke incessantly about deviations I thought of his deviated mouth is this the last act of the play by Anonymous flat as a shroud full of suppressed sobbing and the snickering of those who heave a sigh of relief that again it has worked out and after clearing away the dead props slowly raise the blood-drenched curtain...

...None of his work, however, was published until the Polish "thaw" of 1956, when two collections of his poems appeared...

...An English translation, by John Carpenter and Bogdana Carpenter, will be issued in 1984 by Oxford University Press...

...Translated from the Polish by JOHN CARPENTER and BOGDANA CARPENTER 452...

...Herbert's work has been translated into most European languages, and he has won a number of major European literary prizes...

...At present he lives in Warsaw...