–Vladimir HolanIt began to snow at midnight. And certainly the kitchen is the best place to sit, even the kitchen of the sleepless. It's warm there, you cook yourself something, drink wine and look out of the window at your friend eternity. Why care whether birth and death are merely points when life is not a straight line? Why torment yourself eyeing the calendar and wondering what is at stake? Why confess you don't have the money to buy Saskia shoes? And why brag that you suffer more than others? If there were no silence here the snow would have dreamed it up. You are alone. Spare the gestures. Nothing for show. ____
Swifts turn in the heights of the air;
higher still turn the invisible stars.
When day withdraws to the ends of the earth
their fires shine on a dark expanse of sand.
We live in a world of motion and distance.
The heart flies from tree to bird,
from bird to distant star,
from star to love; and love grows
in the quiet house, turning and working,
servant of thought, a lamp held in one hand.
Silence is always here and everywhere;
sometimes we hear it more clearly:
on the meadows there is mist, the door of the granary is open,
far away a redwing sings and one
white butterfly wings incessantly
around the branch of an elm that
sways slightly against the background of the setting sun.
Twilight leaves everything without faces or script,
only the difference between light and dark remains —
it is just the midsummer night itself
and an old pocketwatch on the desk
suddenly starts very loudly
Night and the House
–Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen
Night reunites the house and its silence
From the foundations up
To the still flower
Only the ticking of time’s clock is heard
Night reunites the house and its destiny
Now nothing is scattered nothing divided
Everything watches like the vigilant cypress
Emptiness walks in its living spaces