God Hid His Face
Selected Poems of RAJZEL ZYCHLINSKY
 
The Red Farm

I am riding. 
I pass 
a red farm.
Everything here is red, 
the house,
the shutters, 
the stalls, 
the dog. 
A red sky lies 
at the gate. 
The trees sleep on red benches

The farmer will come out 
in high boots
with a whip in his hand; 
he will drive the cows out
into red pastures –
but suddenly a rooster
crowed hoarsely; 
the train awoke 
and drove away -
and the red farm vanished.
 

Translated by Barnett Zumoff

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