by Jaime Gil de Biedma
It looks like this coming winter
Will be harsh indeed.
Come, and the Cabinet,
Is momentarily either pondering
The unemployment benefits
Or the severance pay,
Or maybe, lost on the high seas,
Simply praying for the storm to let up, and
For better days to finally come
Lavishing better tidings.
This October night,
As I read the paper between the lines,
I stopped to listen to silence
Pounding hard in my room, to my neighbors
Trading nothings as they go to bed,
All these noises
That suddenly get back to life,
With a mysterious meaning of their own.
And I’ve thought of the myriad humans,
Men and women who, just now,
Shaken by the first chills,
Go back to wonder over their worries,
About their preemptive tiredness,
Their anxiety over the winter coming,
While it’s pouring down, outdoors.
It’s raining along the Catalan seabord,
Cruel overcast skies raging,
Leaking out in factories and oozing down
In dimly lit repair shops.
And the water drags budding seeds
To the sea, mixed with mud,
Trees, odd shoes and mislaid
Tools, all swirling past with
Debt collectors’ notes.
Last updated November 29, 2022