Zbigniew Herbert

(29 October 1924 – 28 July 1998 / Lvov)

Zbigniew Herbert Poems

1. Episode 4/21/2010
2. What Our Dead Do 12/29/2011
3. The Fable About A Nail 12/29/2011
4. A Halt 1/3/2003
5. Three Poems By Heart 1/3/2003
6. An Answer 4/21/2010
7. Wasp 12/29/2011
8. The Ardennes Forest 1/3/2003
9. The Trial 1/3/2003
10. To My Bones 4/21/2010
11. The Return Of The Proconsul 12/29/2011
12. How We Were Introduced 4/21/2010
13. Rovigo 12/29/2011
14. About Troy 1/3/2003
15. A Description Of The King 1/3/2003
16. In A City 12/29/2011
17. Prayer Of Pan Cogito – Traveller 12/29/2011
18. A Russian Tale 1/3/2003
19. Lament 1/3/2003
20. A Knocker 1/3/2003
21. Objects 1/3/2003
22. Daedalus And Icarus 12/29/2011
23. Report From Paradise 4/21/2010
24. Nothing Special 1/3/2003
25. The Power Of Taste 12/29/2011
26. First The Dog 4/21/2010
27. Our Fear 4/21/2010
28. I Would Like To Describe 1/3/2003
29. The Envoy Of Mr Cogito 1/3/2003
30. The Rain 4/21/2010
31. Why The Classics 4/21/2010
32. From The Top Of The Stairs 1/3/2003
33. A Ballad That We Do Not Perish 1/3/2003
34. Architecture 1/3/2003
35. The Monster Of Mr Cogito 1/3/2003
36. The Tongue 12/29/2011
37. Mr. Cogito And The Imagination 1/20/2003
38. Home 1/3/2003
39. Pebble 1/3/2003
40. Elegy Of Fortinbras 12/29/2011
Best Poem of Zbigniew Herbert

Report From The Besieged City

Too old to carry arms and fight like the others -

they graciously gave me the inferior role of chronicler
I record - I don't know for whom - the history of the siege

I am supposed to be exact but I don't know when the invasion began
two hundred years ago in December in September perhaps yesterday at dawn
everyone here suffers from a loss of the sense of time

all we have left is the place the attachment to the place
we still rule over the ruins of temples spectres of gardens and houses
if we lose the ruins nothing will be left

I write as I can...

Read the full of Report From The Besieged City

A Knocker

There are those who grow
gardens in their heads
paths lead from their hair
to sunny and white cities

it's easy for them to write
they close their eyes
immediately schools of images
stream down their foreheads

[Hata Bildir]