Don’t ask of us the word that squares on every side
our formless spirit, and in fiery letters
proclaims it and shines out like a crocus
lost in the middle of a dusty field.
Ah, that man who goes secure,
friend to others and to himself,
and has no care that his shadow
is stamped by the dog-star upon a crumbling wall!
Don’t seek from us the formula that might open worlds for you —
rather some syllable as crooked and dry as a branch.
This only we are able to tell you today,
what we are not, what we do not want.
–Eugenio Montale, translated by Joseph Cary
*****
Encountered in a collection called Poems: Montale down in the used books basement at a bookstore I frequent a little too often. Originally from Ossi di seppia (1925), or Cuttlefish Bones. Out of an absence of expectation, a beautiful surprise…
frames askew 