My Blue Bird

/, Blesok no. 22/My Blue Bird

My Blue Bird

My Blue Bird
The Unread Script
Words from Blue Silence
A Stalk, a Saucer, a Bird
Simple Afternoon
Letters of Blood
The Bird… The Bird…

Translated by: Zoran Ančevski

You will easily know my blue bird:

it does not peck at bark or the fruits of trees,
nor perch on rocks, nor lurk by carrion and bones –
my bird never descends from heaven.

My bird christens celestial barbarians,
turns light into writing by which
uncertainty, bone-white, dagger-cold

rampages through us…

Only a word could have climbed
so high, to the very stars,
my blue bird,

its beak – sounds, its wings – verbs.

2018-08-21T17:23:43+00:00 October 1st, 2001|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 22|0 Comments