Premature Awakening

/, Blesok no. 59/Premature Awakening

Premature Awakening

Premature Awakening
A Child"s Confession
The Smell of Morel For my father
Warm Blood
Would You Like Some Water?
Water, oh Yes!
The Great Mother

Do not give in!
You must take the distance
as an advantage
and describe that irritating soap foam of hope
in the soul which has entered you so many times
occupying you as if someone else’s territory
and smelling of musk at the same time.

You need that distance to continue life
that constant distancing from what was
that giving – taking
that unmistakable minus
that day of clarity, of ravine – like dark.

Climb the peak of yourself and withdraw
to the fertile soil of the foothills
to the apple groves that smell of parsley and mint
to the words that creep between your breasts –
tickling meaningful seed – bearing males –
to sights that run after you like hounds
to warning times
look behind, sound yourself
but do not stop
move higher, deeper
what you possess is only yours.

Extend the distance, burst into flames
from gazing at the same world, this world
from brushing against reality hastily

– the dissoluteness, the diving depths
the bunker for the clash with the imagined
the birth – house, the unresolved conflict
between the dream and the public opinion –

run away so far until you freeze with the wish
to return
distance yourself so much that you lose your instance
your youth
for return.

2018-08-21T17:23:03+00:00 May 10th, 2008|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 59|0 Comments