In Poems It Always Looks Different

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In Poems It Always Looks Different

Did I Ask For Something
An Imprint of the Pen
Porgy & Bess Band
The Infinitive

In poems it always looks different.
When I read sentences written by others,
everything seems clear and easy.
Like a sheet of paper which still resists fire,
which hardly feels the signs of ash
on it. In my yard
ash is so comprehensive.
Like an illusion, like a picture that inspires.

Many write about lost beauty,
about misfortune that comes suddenly and creeps
into a silent, abandoned heart.
However, I would like to say something
about my yard and about the big river
which you should see from the window.
About an ash-tree and two lime-trees which
disappeared the other day.

The mechanism of the fairy-tale has suddenly become
completely inconceivable to me.
The ash that falls from the window,
that black soot that only yesterday
used to be a table, a bed or books,
somebody’s life about which nobody thought very much,
that is stuck in my throat and blurring my sight.
When I wave with my hand,
will I still be able to feel anything?

Translated by: Miljenko Kovačiček

AuthorZvonko Maković
2018-08-21T17:23:04+00:00 February 25th, 2008|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 58|0 Comments