Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MAN IN THE MIRROR, by FRANZ WERFEL


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MAN IN THE MIRROR, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Good heaven, it is not I who stares out of the glass
Last Line: Till he runs from the mirror, swiftly, terrified.
Subject(s): Mirrors


Good Heaven, it is not I who stares out of the glass,
That hairy-chested man, unshaven, grave and crass.
This morning was so blue,
The sky was just like new,
And so nurse took me out to play upon the grass.

My little sailor-suit had not yet flown away
Up to the attic trunk where it is locked to stay.
Just now laid aside,
Collar drooping, wide,
Drowsy, it hangs against the door as it hangs every day.

Was I not in the kitchen when at four o'clock
The wintry smell of coffee wreathed a voluble tick-tock,
I looked so shy and sweet,
Just come, on tingling feet,
From the skating-pond with brother where I'd strutted like a cock.

Today again old nurse put fear into my heart,
Fear of the watchman Kakitz who stands in the park, apart.
Often of wretched nights
When wind blows out the lights
I hear this devil limp along through darkness and depart.

The good old woman, but why won't she come?
My head is heavy with sleep, my body numb.
If she would just come in
And take with her the thin
Small light that overhead keeps up its steady hum.

But no still tread is heard, softened by eventide,
And Babi does not come and take the light outside.
Just that stout man stands there
With his helpless stare
Till he runs from the mirror, swiftly, terrified.





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