Fragments (1930-1932)

Now that I have learned to be discreet,
now that I am brown and brittle for my harvest,
shall I go on forgetting
death was much closer to my childhood?

The children still grow drowsy with apprehension,
and hurt all over when they are forced to eat;
but I have lost my taste for sulking,
I am alone no matter where I look.

I look at sky and fields, sky and fields.
What more do I want? Suddenly I am squinting
like a nearsighted sultan at his turquoise ring.
The earth is just another book — so bookish.

I too am earth, this dear, dear earth
that tortures me like talk or music.
My God, help me to live through this night.
I fear for my life, my life, your slave. . . .

Living in Petersburg is to sleep in a coffin.
But I am no longer a child!
The grave mustn’t try to teach
the cripple to be quiet.

Look, my lips cake
and crack like pink clay.
I am everyone speaking
for the sky to remain sky.