Tears in the eyes, the sorrows of the sorrowful,
Dull sorrows, dreary tears.
He asks for nothing, he isn’t unfeeling,
He’s sad in prison and sad if he’s free.
The weather is sad, the night so black
You wouldn’t put a blindman out. The strong
Are sitting, the weak hold power
And the king stands near the seated queen.
Smiles and sighs, insults grow rotten
In the mouths of mutes and the eyes of cowards.
Think nothing of it: this burns, that blazes!
Your hands fit in your pockets and against your brow.
All the bad luck in the world
And my love above it
Like a naked beast.
Capital of Pain, Black Widow Press, 2006
translated by Mary Ann Caws, Patricia Terry, Nancy Kline
originally published 1926.