Translated from the Polish of Stanislaw Barańczak
They will certainly be with you in the New Year,
As always, in the early hours.
Bewildered like a new-born baby,
Wrenched from sleep by a shrieking bell,
You’ll open your door.
Identity cards will flash in your face like stars,
Three of them. Dulled and stunned, you will recognise
In one of them a friend from school. (What a small world).
He has hardly changed at all, though the moustache makes a difference,
And maybe he is a shade fatter.
They will enter. Their watches’ gold will dazzle you
(What a grey world), their cigarette smoke
Will fill your room with a smell on incense.
Only myrrh is missing. Pushing under the bed with your heel
The book that must not be found,
You’ll ask yourself, ‘What in fact is myrrh?’
You’ll have lots of time
To look that one up.
‘You’re coming with us’.
You’ll accompany them.
How white the snow is.
How black their Fiat is.
How vast the world was.