The Scent of Tea

/, Blesok no. 29/The Scent of Tea

The Scent of Tea

The Scent of Tea
Hearts
To Edvard Kocbek

I cannot say when it is you learn of the way
of destiny, the ecstatic chiming
in the belfry of time, oozing, with pleas left
unheeded; but when it does happen,
not a wordplay will sate you. You are forever
starting anew. All you do is stammer, nothing else.

I turn to the reflection on the water surface
and see myself who hasn’t as yet said anything.
It is neither wartime nor peacetime.
On the crests of waves your nodding
wings are a foam, fighting despair and
your prayer, fiercer than silence, falls heavily
time and again. We all have forgotten you.

But you, magician, have not ceased to be,
you who broke your stick in two and threw it
into the abyss, wherein madmen descend to fetch it.
Now they have four ends to catch up with and not two.

And I? Stammering, I call out to the safe clear corner of the sky.
Peace in the fields and a solemn breeze over the woods.
Friendship, love, frozen furrows of years.
I turn to the earth regained,
where plots have tulips and wild roses growing,
and tree bark is soothed, for there was draught.

And where rivers greet the sea with a grand gesture.
Where night bids the day and ushers it into its stately home.
Where earth blushes again and those closest to you
speak clearly in a trusting tone. We can make it, after all.
Thus delivered to our childhood, we rock the world.

There are huge waves. Silence is washed up onto the shore.
And look! Bigger are still to come. Not an hour passes
without a plea for mercy, a plea for the annunciation.
Love is greater than hate. Good mightier than evil.
Hope more persistent than solitude and despair.

You returned to the unutterable.
I shall go on saying to the last:
Earth, Horror, the Sky.

AuthorPrimož Čučnik
2018-08-21T17:23:35+00:00 November 1st, 2002|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 29|0 Comments