In the square of a lighted window ¬
On the pane, from outside,
The silhouette of a bee.
One can hardly see her wings.
Upside-down.
Narrow body.
Six thin legs.
With a naked exposure,
With an ugly threat,
Crawls
The bee.
How shall we crown her with the words of a poem?
How shall we sign, and what?
A little boy will come and say:
The queen is naked.
In the sun she was a falling leaf,
In the flower a speck of dark honey,
A dew-drop in a swarm of stars ¬
And here she is a shadow.
One word of a poem in the ringing swarm,
A fierce will in the languid garden,
A burst of light in the sunset's ash-
And here she is a shadow.
Your honey? Who'll remember your honey? It's there.
Far away. In the hive.
Here on the lighted windowpane, your body, your head ¬
You're all sting: helpless blind miserable hatred.
Fear kills.
Watch out.
Translated by Stephen Mitchell; taken from Ariel, November 32,
1973.