Lorinc Szabo
From a Crumbling Rock
But what you were or what you were like,
now that you are not, and since I can’t think
that in the star-stirring universe
you should meet me on another sandbar
and give me everything again, my dear,
that during twenty-five years in your heart
and in your young soul I loved so dearly,
and since my life also proceeds to sink:
from my rock (crumbling rock! the year you died!),
since our feelings and beings stopped blending,
I’ve done nothing but stare at eternal time
and I’m struck dumb to see that in the ceaseless
turbulence everything that ever was
has such exquisite insignificance.
Translated by George Held, Katherine Mayer
Page(s) 178-179
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