There are certain limits,
to exceed which
is to find oneself
somewhere other than habit decrees . . .
There are certain limits,
to exceed which
is to realize the futility
of the dialectics of love and hate . . .
Thus love becomes
an infinitely great love;
hate becomes infinite
death . . .
Translated by George Theiner
Fenced in by duration, the day
did not seemto exist. But a distant
breath of autumn
secretly imposed itself
on gardens and parks.
Timelessness continued. Eve turned away
while Adam beside her on a bench
was dozing. It was noon, a fallen angel
was turning into a serpent,
heavenly manna was dropping on the souls
of lovers, sweetly sustaining them. The leaves
shuddered at their impending fall.
The apple of sin was ripening.
But Adam slept
and therefore could not sin.
As he awoke from sleep
the angel of destruction kissed his forehead.
He sensed that he loved Eve
who had sinned.
The breath of autumn passed
through the park, the leaves shuddered
at their impendibg fall. Nursemaids
and young mothers were pushing prams,
the children howled, in dingy flats
the air was stifling, irritable men
went out to the pub and dreamed of adultery.
Heavenly manna sweetly dropped
on lovers' lips in dark and secret corners.
Our childhood this afternoon
was still intact:
at nightfall we kissed reality,
no longer a virgin.
The lights went on in the windows,
Eve, bending over her work-box,
was sewing clothes for her child.
Adam, a little drowsy,
was looking for a chance to slip away.
Exile from paradise continued.
Translated by Ewald Osers