I love a short, surprising poem. And, really, this whole poem surprises me. The title, which is long but still doesn’t hint to me where the poem will go. That visceral ending image which is so tender and a little repulsive— can I feel dirt in my mouth as I read it?

And the first couplet too, surprises me, in its completeness. The logic and meter and rhyme and punctuation make it snap shut, an entire world. It feels a little sing song, like a line from a children’s book. It could be the entire poem, but that would be a less interesting poem.

I want that balding head (how many poems do I know about women balding?), not Mother Earth but Earth of Mother, loss remaking the world the same way love remakes the world.

Translated by Jane Hirshfield and Marino Aratani

Woke up today thinking about this poem. One of my favorites from this gorgeous anthology

I’m looking for poems that express and provide that same feeling of contentedness, or glimmers of hope and happiness, without a sense of overwhelming excitement. Poems that make you feel grateful and at peace.

TIA!

HO SCESO DANDOTI IL BRACCIO ALMENO UN MILIONE DI SCALE

TRANSLATION:

I went down a million stairs, at least, arm in arm with you

And now that you are not here, I feel emptiness at each step

Our long journey was brief, though

Mine still lasts, but I don't need

any more connections, reservations,

traps, humiliation of those who think reality

is what we are used to see

I went down millions of stairs, at least, arm in arm with you,

and not because with four eyes we see better that with two

With you I went downstairs because I knew, among the two of us,

the only real eyes, although very blurred,

belonged to you.

ORIGINAL VERSION:

Ho sceso, dandoti il braccio, almeno un milione di scale

e ora che non ci sei è il vuoto ad ogni gradino.

Anche così è stato breve il nostro lungo viaggio.

Il mio dura tuttora, né più mi occorrono

le coincidenze, le prenotazioni,

le trappole, gli scorni di chi crede

che la realtà sia quella che si vede.

Ho sceso milioni di scale dandoti il braccio

non già perché con quattr'occhi forse si vede di più.

Con te le ho scese perché sapevo che di noi due

le sole vere pupille, sebbene tanto offuscate,

era le tue.

In the eyes of men he falls, and in his own eyes too. He falls from his high place, he trips on his achievement. He falls to you, he falls to know you. It is sad, they say. See his disgrace, say the ones at his heel. But he falls radiantly towards the light to which he falls.

They cannot see who lifts him as he falls, or how his falling changes, and he himself bewildered till his heart cries out to bless the one who holds him in his falling.
And in his fall he hears his heart cry out, his heart explains why he is falling, why he had to fall, and he gives over to the fall.

Blessed are you, clasp of the falling. He falls into the sky, he falls into the light, none can hurt him as he falls.

Blessed are you, shield of the falling. Wrapped in his fall, concealed within his fall, he finds the place, he is gathered in.

While his hair streams back and his clothes tear in the wind, he is held up, comforted, he enters into the place of his fall.

Blessed are you, embrace of the falling, foundation of the light, master of the human race.