Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Oksana Zabuzhko

Farewell Among the Stars

It’s just that I’m myself, and no one else.
I too will die. And I won’t escape punishment either.
Everything my name designates
Will be beaten like yellow dust
Out of my belongings, my papers, my addresses
(Which are scattered over half the globe).
Still, some future brother of mine, name unknown,
Might sob one night in his sleep: “Where are you now?”
And that will be enough. Look: the pollen-like smudges
On fingers touching an antique mirror
And the luminous whistle, like skates slashing ice,
Will long resound in open space.
And a child, gasping with wonder,
Will turn skyward his face chilled by sentient tears –
And that will be enough: my life will have been realized.
Then – keep on without me.

FAREWELL AMONG THE STARS

Close

Farewell Among the Stars

It’s just that I’m myself, and no one else.
I too will die. And I won’t escape punishment either.
Everything my name designates
Will be beaten like yellow dust
Out of my belongings, my papers, my addresses
(Which are scattered over half the globe).
Still, some future brother of mine, name unknown,
Might sob one night in his sleep: “Where are you now?”
And that will be enough. Look: the pollen-like smudges
On fingers touching an antique mirror
And the luminous whistle, like skates slashing ice,
Will long resound in open space.
And a child, gasping with wonder,
Will turn skyward his face chilled by sentient tears –
And that will be enough: my life will have been realized.
Then – keep on without me.

Farewell Among the Stars

It’s just that I’m myself, and no one else.
I too will die. And I won’t escape punishment either.
Everything my name designates
Will be beaten like yellow dust
Out of my belongings, my papers, my addresses
(Which are scattered over half the globe).
Still, some future brother of mine, name unknown,
Might sob one night in his sleep: “Where are you now?”
And that will be enough. Look: the pollen-like smudges
On fingers touching an antique mirror
And the luminous whistle, like skates slashing ice,
Will long resound in open space.
And a child, gasping with wonder,
Will turn skyward his face chilled by sentient tears –
And that will be enough: my life will have been realized.
Then – keep on without me.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère