“Standing before the mirror of silence
with her hands in her hair,
Barbara pours into her glass body
silver droplets of her voice.
And then like a jar
she fills with light and glasslike
filters stars through herself
and the white dust of the moon.
Through the quivering prism of her body
in the music of white sparks
minks will glide past
like fluffy leaves of sleep.
Hoarfrost will coat the bears in it
brightened by polar stars
and a stream of mice will weave through
flowing in a loud avalanche.
Until filled up with milk
she’ll slowly sink into sleep
as melodically time will settle at the bottom
in a cascade of glare.
And so Barbara has a silver body. In it
the white mink of silence stiffens softly
under an unseen arm.”
Krzysztof Kamil Baczynski, “White Magic” (translated from the Polish by Alex Kurczaba)
Image via http://www.pinterest.com/kvp134/
Baczynski was a Polish poet who died in the Warsaw Uprising (1944) at the age of 23. In his short life, he wrote a lot of beautiful poems, such as this one, dedicated to his wife, Barbara.