SIMPLE SONG OF MY WIFE
As she comes in, cackles burst from the door,
The potted plants all stamp, shaking the floor,
A blond streak, small and drowsy, in her hair
Cheeps like a frightened sparrow in the straw.
Clumsily whirling towards her through the air,
The ageing light-flex too lets out a squawk:
Everything spins – to jot it down, no chance.
She has come back. She has been gone all day.
She bears an enormous poppy in her hands
To drive death, my adversary, away.
5 January 1940
FROM:
Miklós Radnóti
FORCED MARCH
Translated by George Gömöri and Clive Wilmer
Enitharmon Press
THE CREEKSIDE HERMIT 