NEITHER MEMORIES NOR MAGIC

Concealed, my many angers lay in my heart before

this hour as brown seeds ripen within the apple-core,

and I was always certain that, sword in hand, a friendly

strong angel followed behind me, an angel to defend me.

But when, one wild dawn, waking, you see your whole world crumbling

to dust and must go forward confused, a phantom fumbling

and all but naked, your few belongings left behind,

then you will find arising in your lightened heart, a refined

and musing, humble yearning, laconic and mature –

if still you can rebel, it’s not over your own sorrow

but for a glowing, distant, sweet freedom for tomorrow.

Positions and possessions I’ve never held and won’t,

but spare a moment’s thought for this wealthy life: I don’t

concern myself with vengeance, my heart is free of rage,

the world will be rebuilt — and, although this ugly age

has banned my words, they will yet ring out beneath new walls;

alone I must live through all that in my time befalls

me knowing that neither memories nor magic can defend me;

I will not glance behind me — above, the sky’s unfriendly,

and should you see me yet, turn away, my friend, and go on.

Where in the past a mighty protector stood behind me,

the angel might be gone.

Miklós Radnóti