Miroslav Holub



Translated by George Theiner

The small worms of pain still wriggled
in the limpid air.
The trembling died away and
Something inside us bowed low before
the fact of the operating-table,
the fact of the window
the fact of space
the fact of steel
with seven blades.
The silence was inviolable
like the surface of a mirror.

Though we wanted to ask
Where the blood was flowing
Whether you were still dead,

Notes on this poem

Please note that these translations were later revised, and can be found in Miroslav Holub: Poems Before and After (Bloodaxe Books, 1990), reproduced here by permission of Bloodaxe Books in a translation by Ian Milner.