We present this work in honor of the poet’s 120th birthday.

 

Sudden, first
grey
hair, like an icy hello
from the one I love most…

you gave me the slip, and among
this riot of hair I haven’t found you again;
now I look for you,
as one indifferently seeks
a forgotten face.

I needn’t hide you;
the whole world could pass by,
it would be absurd for anyone
to suspect your presence.
Only I will know about this buried treasure.

I’ll scribble some humorous lines,
and you’ll forget me while I greet
people; if the barber uncovers you,
he will scientifically
expound on your presence,
then prescribe a hair tonic.

He’ll be the only one to know about you
but I’ll hush him in disbelief,
ask him to be discrete,
and you’ll remain one fleeting
thought amid a myriad.

In twenty years, you will long
have gone off into the world;
by then it will be normal
for no one to spot you
among others of the same age.

Translation by Anthony Seidman