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End of a Story by Jaroslav Seifert
« on: April 05, 2020, 03:11:05 PM »
In its own roundness the girlish body shines and she opens her eyes, to see more.
One's hand glides so easily over the smooth skin.
Her head, too, is lovely and light and it seems that her kiss cannot weigh more than a fallen petal, while the unattainable lips already hurry to places that are jealously guarded as if by both loin and doves.
A few years ago I was caught in a drunken wind, and I did not heed these things.
In one town, a town that floats in the sea like an ostrich-plumed hat, a nun entered an empty church.
Almost as she entered, she was devoutly on her knees.
A dove falls like that from the roof unto wet grass when she wants to die.
Her forehead hidden under a veil moved toward the colored air as she uncovered her face.
God, I know this girl! Perhaps it was a mistake and nothing more.
But I looked at her ...

as if bound to this memory.
She got up quickly, suffering on her face, and before I could realize her shadow the veiled appearance again disappeared through the church's entrance and faced the Guido fountains.
I rushed after her to see one more time her half-closed eyes, in which lay a wound inflicted at the old well under the willow trees.
The black habit disappeared among the lanes surrounding the Academy, then I caught a glimpse of her far away as she, now near the Palazzo Foscari, walked on toward the Campo San Paolo.
I could see her white face in the crowd at the fish market.
There I lost her forever-as if she had hidden among the silvery scales of fish.
Then the clock sang the songs
Written on the plastered walls of this city, struck ten-
Punctuations of time, the roll of our blood.

Seifert, Jaroslav - Casting of Bells (Spirit That Moves Us, 1984)


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In Those Winters When by Jaroslav Seifert

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It was afternoor or later by Jaroslav Seifert

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