Afternoon Light (Fichman)
Afternoon Light, by Yakov Fichman (1881-1958)
Drink deep, my heart, of brightest noon,
But trust not its tranquility!
Quietly, in the blue light, lurk
Mourning winds one cannot see.
Treacherous is the afternoon rest.
Do not trust it when it comes.
A bright canopy is woven slowly
By a hidden hand over horror’s depths.
Dreams of purest white
Dig, for something, a grave:
You awake — their song stills:
Their gold tarnishes, their light pales.
Do not believe in the light of afternoon
Nor in its deceiving rest.
Sure is one hour, one hour alone,
Faithful in its distress.
This is the muted evening hour —
Lingering always in the day’s edge.
It will not fail, believe in it.
Walk erect to meet it.
In the light of day, in the golden white
That it come, my heart, await!
(Trans. Ruth Finer Mintz)