Partition of the Light
The Excitement of the Kernel
Internal Sonnet
An Apple
On Macedonian Roads

You are ready to take the rock
for a rock, oh novice,
small Lazarus among foothills.
And the wing might be an error

so that we are certainly possible, squeezed
between echoes, a line of an illegible transcript.
We would not be enough to move
this, needles of frost, above the order,

fiery Himalayas. You discern an equivalence,
a number, and for a moment we are so close,
an olive-tree murmurs above the spring,
and a shepherd

here is the first name, for kneading
a lump of clay. A pea runs away from you,
are you going to hunt again?

Translated by: Dragi Mihajlovski and David Bowen

AuthorSande Stojčevski
2018-08-21T17:23:59+00:00 February 1st, 1999|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 07|0 Comments