Aleksander Wat: To Be a Mouse

To be a mouse. Preferably a field mouse. Or a garden mouse –
but not the kind that live in houses.
Man exhales an abominable smell!
We all know it – birds, crabs, rats.
He provokes disgust and fear.
        Trembling.

To feed on wisteria flowers, on the bark of palm trees,
to dig up roots in cold, humid soil
And to dance after a fresh night. To look at the full moon,
to reflect in one's eyes the sleek light of lunar
        Agony.

To burrow in a mouse hole for the time when wicked Boreas
will search for me with his cold, bony fingers
in order to squeeze my little heart under the blade of his claw
a cowardly mouse heart –
        A palpitating crystal.


Tr. Czeslaw Milosz in Mediterranean Poems, published ten years after Wat's death in 1967. The poet escapes from his humanness into a tiny, threatened heart of animal integrity.