Remembering My Father
by Zbigniew Herbert
His face severe in clouds above the waters of childhood
so rarely did he hold my warm head in his hands
given to belief not forgiving faults
because he cleared out woods and straightened paths
he carried the lantern high when we entered the night
I thought I would sit at his right hand
and we would separate light from darkness
and judge those of us who live
--it happened otherwise
a junk-dealer carried his throne on a hand-cart
and the deed of ownership the map of our kingdom
he was born for a second time slight very fragile
with transparent skin hardly perceptible cartilage
he diminished his body so I might receive it
in an unimportant place there is shadow under a stone
he himself grows in me we eat our defeats
we burst out laughing
when they say how little is needed
to be reconciled
Holding On To Daddy
His hands immense around mine as we strode down to the docks
not often would I have him all to myself
in a setting so removed from mother’s realm
for she had taken my brother to line up at the check-in counter
while he parked the car and pointed out the skyscrapers of the Big Apple.
I could not see the boat anywhere so asked him where it was
he pointed to the vast black side of it through the terminal’s tall glass window
and would later with that bluish twinkle in his eye tell everyone we met
that I had thought we would set sail for England in a rowboat—
a large crane scooped our luggage high onto the ship
I even watched a dog go up, netted and nettled in his solo flight
we joined all the passengers on the upper deck to wave goodbye
my tiny mittened hand gripping his while my brother scouted for kids his age
there were crowds of wavers on the shore streaming confetti and tears
then Queen Mary blew her stack and I nearly jumped overboard
but he caught me just in time just like he always would
oh, the fun we had back then when he took time for me
and in his final years we sometimes looked back together and laughed
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