On the Poem’s Other Side
by Rokhl Korn
trans. Irena Klepfisz (c) 1995
On the poem's other side there’s a secret:
An orchard and a house, its roof of thatch
—
Three pines stand there in silence,
three sentinels posted on an eternal watch.
On the poem’s other side there’s a bird
with yellow-brown feathers, a bright red
breast.
Every winter it flies to this orchard
and sits like a bud on the barren nest.
On the poem’s other side there’s a road
sliced narrow, thin, so razor-sharp fine
and there someone wanders barefoot and
mute,
a ghost lost along the passage of time.
On the poem’s other side wondrous things
can occur
even now in this hour clouded and gray,
as it presses against the pane of the glass
the feverish longing of a wounded day.
On the poem’s other side my mother stands
rapt
in the doorway, a moment in the fading
light
and calls me home, like long ago, long ago:
Enough play now, don’t you see? It’s night.