Remembering My Father by Zbigniew Herbert

Remembering My Father

His face severe in clouds above the waters of childhood

so rarely did he hold my warm head in his hands

given to belief not forgiving faults

because he cleared our woods and straightened paths

he carried the lantern high when we entered the night

I thought I would sit at his right hand

and we would separate light from darkness

and judge those of us who live

—it happened otherwise

A junk dealer carried his throne on a hand-cart

and the deed of ownership the map of our kingdom

he was born a second time slight very fragile

with transparent skin hardly perceptible cartilage

he diminished his body so I might receive it

in an unimportant place there is shadow under a stone 

he himself grows in me we eat our defeats

we burst out laughing

when they say how little is needed

to be reconciled

(Translated by John and Bogdana Carpenter)