So your dying lodged where I gave it shade,
a cradle to pause in and thoughts to inhale.
But then I woke up. The sun at its height
made me squint. I was armed to the teeth with a good mood
and the pills to prove it.
Then I pulled up my sleeves and dislodged my heart,
removed that black arm-band, the corona of memory.
You respired me. I took up fruit
with a vengeance (multivitamins to the rescue!)
which cheered up my working parts.
Without stopping, I trotted from here to there,
even galloped into marriage, while thinking ‘wedding march’.
Finally, the work-outs: gymnastics, athletics,
prosthetics; just stopping short of
an early grave.
But the daily round was on its last legs
and the nightly, the senses giddying up to
a premonition of this major episode
flailing on the earth’s crust, a body
hammering at the point of rest.
I was absolutely barking and nose down
I missed my footing, went beyond the pale
forgot to breathe, a poriomaniac, legging it
endlessly—not all the way from Bordeaux to Nurtingen
but I could have.
Except the ground turned into a quaking morass
that my feet vanished into, then my ankles,
then—at night the bed was an oubliette
that gaped suddenly without so much
as a warning squeak.
Then a blank, a dim impression of
the small girl glimpsed through the rear window
of our apartment clenching a razor between
her teeth. I am thinking of that now
and of the deadly kiss.
A byĹo tak, Ĺźe twoja ĹmierÄ usiadĹa w moim cieniu,
Ĺźeby siÄ o mnie oprzeÄ, odetchnÄ
Ä moimi myĹlami.
ZerwaĹem siÄ z miejsca, szukaĹem sĹoĹca w zenicie.
UzbroiĹem siÄ po zÄby w humor i witaminy.
WzruszyĹem ramionami i strzÄ
snÄ
Ĺem duszÄ,
zerwaĹem czarny bandaĹź, czarnÄ
ĹunÄ z pamiÄci.
DodaĹaĹ mi polotu. JadĹem owoce garĹciami.
Mikroelementy stanÄĹy na straĹźy komórek.
Szybko, celowo chodziĹem, od sprawy do sprawy,
wskoczyĹem nawet w Ĺlub nucÄ
c epitalamia.
ZaczÄ
Ĺem nawet ÄwiczyÄ: biegi, pompki, sprÄĹźyny –
i Ĺźadnych naduĹźyÄ na niewczesny umór.
To dni byĹy na umór, a kaĹźdy sen wĹciekĹy
po aurze przywidzeĹ i zawrocie zmysĹów
jak wielki napad na powierzchniÄ ziemi,
koĹatanie ciaĹa, Ĺźeby wejĹÄ w zimowÄ
kwaterÄ.
I goniĹem w piÄtkÄ, traciĹem wysokoĹÄ,
gubiĹem krok i miarÄ, i traciĹem oddech –
zgubna poriomania, szalone podróĹźe –
nie z Bordeaux do Nürtingen, ale zawsze.
Ziemia pod stopami wszÄdzie taka miÄkka –
czuĹem, Ĺźe stopy grzÄznÄ
w niej po kostki.
A w nocy – ĹóĹźko byĹo jak zapadnia
i bez szmeru usuwaĹo siÄ spod ciaĹa.
PóĹşniej luki w pamiÄci, zapatrzenia w okno –
tam maĹa dziewczynka w bloku naprzeciwko
uĹmiecha siÄ z ĹźyletkÄ
pomiÄdzy zÄbami.
MyĹlÄ o jej chĹodnych pocaĹunkach.