HAT
It’s not easy to wait for
The head of right size
To hang from birth
In a window of an old shop
Whose former owner
Reposes under the earth
Eschatologically bald
It’s even harder to be
A church bell made of felt
On the battlefield of thoughts
Cold as the fingers of a cashier
Counting small change
If someone does stop
Before the dirty window
It’ll be only to eavesdrop
On the boy with the accordion
And to drop a coin
Into a hat turned upside down
To yawn at the sky
BUTTON
Give it a chance
And it will get lost
The little rebel
With only holes
For its luggage
The insolent son
Blind to good work
Of its brothers
Who toil on dresses
Of pale mistresses
And the shirt of the one condemned
And led to be hanged
Enjoying itself now
On the sidewalk
In company of a hairpin
And a cap from a bottle of beer
While the preacher wind
Opens cold churches
In souls of infrequent pedestrians
Buttoned up to their throats
CANDLE
Virgin made of wax
Sent to a monastery
To learn virtue
Thus speaks little
Exchanges her tongue for a flame
So you’d think only about ashes
Eyeing your own shadow
It’s dark in there
As in a horn of a beast
You went hunting
Across the old forest of your tongue
For the feast
Whose day never came
It’s dark under the hood
Of the executioner
With which his daughter
Plays in the evening
Although the bed
Has already been made
And the wind has blown out the candle
On its way to make music
In wet reeds at the end of the earth
COMB
He is a gardener
Sleepy from idleness
And a little forgetful
No one hears him hum
Busying himself a with dim memory
Of the owner of the hair
He guards between his ribs
Even if the longing for golden idleness
Expelled from paradise
Were to prevail within us
We can agree that it’s sad
To waste a lifetime
In a company of a single hair
As for you erecting triumphal arches
Weaving rope out smoke
Take a look out of your window
Dusk as if at the world’s end
Slowly burning heaps
Of dead leaves
As winter walks into gardens
SHOES
In the dead of night
Where blind alley ends
A toothless mouth
In a permanent yawn
Don’t tell me
You didn’t see that
Though the street light
Just went out
Like that little sun
Above the abyss within you
Once long ago
As you went off somewhere
And arrived ahead of yourself
So you’d have someone to rejoice
At the end of the road
Translation by Charles Simic
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