from “C(o)urt Interpretations”

/, Blesok no. 55/from “C(o)urt Interpretations”

from “C(o)urt Interpretations”

Depression
At the Red Snake
Crime and Punishment
Happy Birthday to Me
Family Tragedy
Christmas Poem
In Search of Inspiration
Randol Poem

Grandpa, as I was looking for the grill today
which was concealed behind the proud gas burner tripod,
I laid my eyes on the walnut tree which Grandma in her will
had never left to my self-publishing uncle.
Do you see how deep folk wisdom is?
As I’m replenishing the fire with dry twigs and everything smells so nice
I can see you again in the coffin lowered into the ground,
while Grandma, unaware of being a patron of Art,
was incinerated against her wishes.
I’m burning dry walnut leaves in the memory of her.
Today it’s only the smoke that makes my eyes water.
My lyricism has gone under with you.
It dripped away during those three days
while I was watching your dead shriveled body
which didn’t swell one bit.
This left village slanderers without their favorite subject,
and coffin-bearers with no need to exercise their muscles.
I don’t know what it was that flies found so dear on the ossified body.
Grandpa, when Grandma was buried
I was wearing sunglasses,
but she never got to where you are,
since a hole no deeper than thirty centimeters is enough to bury an urn.
The last time she could hold your hand was on the catafalque,
and this was the last melodramatic scene that brought tears to my eyes.
I’m not going to attend the mass held on the anniversary of your death,
I’m going to grab hold of a chainsaw,
cut up the walnut tree, build a bonfire and disinfect the air,
burn up all the excessive words, destroy the last buds of lyricism.

2018-08-21T17:23:08+00:00 August 3rd, 2007|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 55|0 Comments