Remembrances Of Others Poem by Abraham Sutzkever

I

I shall write only remembrances,
Other people's remembrances,
My own, my innermost,
I leave behind
For another,
In whatever distant future.

I want to write the remembrances of Adam
When Eve
Was the only woman in Eden
And he — the only man for both of them.
Did she, even then, know jealousy?
Was anybody there who cherished her envy?

I want to write the remembrances of Job
And reveal
The dreadful curse
He never cursed;

And all the way to the remembrances of Leyvik
Who saw in his first dream,
As he told in Tel Aviv:
The earth — a fireball
And he himself — born of fire.

Alas, the hammer dropped from his hand
When he forged his dream — —

II

I say to the remembrances of others:
Be mine,
Spun of time as silk of silkworms.
I put my ear to a stone,
An ear to an ear:
Outside of what is, the nothing too
Does not exist.

Emerge from the past,
Emerge from once-upon-a-time,
I want to paint you,
Describe
As no one before,
As long as my fingers
Are soldiers on the battlefield.

And let the mute raise hell
And winds throw stones:
I want to paint you,
Describe
As no one before.

III

Bunches of grapes in an arbor are the remembrances
Of others, laden with wine only for me.

I had only one pair of lips. Now I am laden with lips.
Lips on my hands, my veins, my thoughts.

Bunches of grapes in an arbor. Lips of fire
Drink the remembrances, long forgotten.
I am the heir of the bunches of grapes in an arbor,
Saturated, laden with wine only for me.

IV

With rolled-up sleeves and iron muscles
You hoisted up your life to know its weight.
Never mind. The iron waves, your muscles,
Would have lifted with the same force
Ten more lives. But the iron waves
Hoisted your life along with your enemy.
And amazing:
Chained to your feet in the air
The ball of the globe remained hanging, it couldn't
Rip the rope you once used to hang your shirts
Out to dry.

And I thought:
Out of the blue, in my cell,
Appeared a painter — Where did he come from? —
And with his blue, never seen in museums,
Painted the taut canvas of your face
And left his smile too, a legacy
For the mirror.

V

Atoms lie under white sheets
With heart attacks.
I tuned my hearing from here to over there
And running lightyears beyond.
A miracle may happen:
The last string of my hearing
Will soon not burst.
So far, the last string is divinely taut
And hears sun-systems tremble under white sheets.

Atoms struggle with heart attacks
And no one knows who will vanquish.

You curious one, do not lift up a sheet,
Atoms write hasty wills on screens
Spread above, over their heads.
And you must know how to read the script. A lightning in a forest,
Shot through by the roots of night, is not easier
To read, to grasp.
A teacher with a pointer hovers in white space.

And when no difference remains between death and life,
As no difference will be between dogs and princes,
Calm and peace will rise on our good earth
And on its better
Planet provinces.

VI

Axes in the air undercut the sunset eagle,
But axes cannot undercut my word.
My kingdom rises alive because of a garden,
Because of its fruit, even my creator
Once made a blessing on that fruit.
My kingdom rises alive. And I —
Among my remembrances
Of others.
Among slaughtered sounds and their family.

I myself am my people and I bear myself on the shoulders.
We shall both start a newborn silence
In honor of a language giving up the ghost.
Among my remembrances
Of others,
Among slaughtered sounds and their family.

1987