Is the little bird torn apart
by a paw? Lights switch on, at least
one juxtaposition between
tree
trunks. On handcarts
(wheelbarrows) there are
blue baby
bags. An unguaranteed
growth ring is left
on the asphalt.
The gadget with which
you fatten
your ears,
rubbed out from sky
lights. The other
will understand all of this
when he takes the time.
The Danube will open its graves.
—Translated from Slovenian
by Brian Henry and the author
Source: THE PARIS REVIEW
.::
Marasca
The sour cherry is a steamship’s body.
Panta rei sleeps.
Marasca
The sour cherry is a steamship’s body.
Panta rei sleeps.
--
FaithPrecious copper mouth.
I hide, hide my head in you.
I have only one white sense.
The rib from which Adam was made.
Cliffs, how they are spouting.
Azure, how it burns you.
Yours, sleepy and starving.
I am hugging you
.::
"Lucretius grabbed my arm and led me"
to the spot where he went nuts. I watered little
drums right away and entangled the Sava River
with knitting needles. I putrefied a small soup,
dismembered seven towels. There, He — The
Terrible — burnt on the stake, squatted, too.
My god, I beat him up his ass. Puff, puff, but
no one had heard a thing. Now here, I’m flooded
with flowers by cumin. Even Tarkovsky appears.
Now I will suck you with my thumbs, mold
you like clay with my horns, till he’d vaporize and
see into what and where I’ve traveled to. Into
honor. Into white birch trees. Into the pouch
used for bread. I hung around the world a lot,
frothily crushing the mountain range. With no
avail, with no day’s pay, sticky are my laws.
I protected an elephant as much as I could,
stared at the back of the horse. Joshed the others
now, too, tested spring mattresses. Kept
gulping nirvana. Loosened feathery leaves,
wrapped the emperor into a roll. To not let my
senses perish, to gallop without a break.
Source THE POETRY FOUNDATION
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