Eugene Dubnov(And Friends)
A Soggy Spongy Mass that Towel Became
A soggy spongy mass that towel became
Which had been hung out all night to dry
From the window. A railway station may
With suddenness show up, as in a film.
And now among the layered-out clouds is light,
And higher up, behind their solid screen.
Already before you and me the train
Is growing heavy in its distant flight.
And we still by the coloured, black-and-white,
Wet, dry timetable of the eyes must live,
Greeting the sun there yet again above,
Seemingly, fields of ripened rye or wheat.
Translated by Eugene Dubnovand John Heath-Stubbs
Page(s) 65
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