When the sun goes down, they told me,
I have to slash my veins;
it’s only noon,
I’ve a few hours left to live.
Shall I write to Lucullus?
I don’t feel like it now.
Go to the circus?
I don’t need games any more, nor bread.
Shall I tell
philosophy’s fortune?
Another hour has gone by.
I’ve a full four hours left.
My bath water’s heating up.
I yawn and lean out of the window,
follow the course of the sun that will not go down again,
and feel inexpressibly bored.
Notes
Translated by Michael Hamburger
“Seneca” from Selected Poems by Marin Sorescu, translated by Michael Hamburger. Published in 1983 by Bloodaxe Books.
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