He woke after a nightmarish night,
his face lit up with clear light and scents.
To rise refreshed out of bed, pronounce
the first, hoary words, say them
with tenderness, babbling as a child would,
and like the early snow caress the ones still sleeping.
To be hungry and to rejoice, how simple that is.
Inhale black coffee and the crispness of rolls.
Beyond the beastly din, beyond human vanity,
find words the way one finds blackberries in the woods.
And, hopefully, grow old as the day grows old,
as the plant seeds ripen in August,
or the wine in the darkness of a barrel,
and in this hour find what is deathless.
his face lit up with clear light and scents.
To rise refreshed out of bed, pronounce
the first, hoary words, say them
with tenderness, babbling as a child would,
and like the early snow caress the ones still sleeping.
To be hungry and to rejoice, how simple that is.
Inhale black coffee and the crispness of rolls.
Beyond the beastly din, beyond human vanity,
find words the way one finds blackberries in the woods.
And, hopefully, grow old as the day grows old,
as the plant seeds ripen in August,
or the wine in the darkness of a barrel,
and in this hour find what is deathless.
Milan Djordjevic, Oranges and Snow: Selected Poems, Charles Simic (trad.), Princeton University Press, 2010
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