Violently Interrupted Poem

/, Blesok no. 66/Violently Interrupted Poem

Violently Interrupted Poem

To the Gardener
To Female Tailors (In Plants and At Home)
Every Woman Adores a Fascist (To Sleepy Housewives)
To the Neighbors (This Morning My Flesh Is a Lowered Flag)
To the Lost Halves (A Violently Interrupted Poem)
God Is A Big Breasted Switchboard Operator Using A Silky Voice to Tell You That the Number You Have Dialed Has Not Been Recognized

Translated by: Danijel Brcko, Tomislav Kuzmanović, Lovro Škopljanac

The brier is budding in its beds, nobody is stating their opinion,
the figs, dry and fresh

both types hollow from beaks, over our heads the absence of earth
which is the sky. the scarecrow is not doing its job anymore.

the curves extend time, but they do not fill it. precise,
like telephone wires that force us to be close, that connect us

with other beings. the scarecrow works in an entirely different way
from the telephone. this morning the dog drank up the marrow from its legs

and it fell, a carbonized cross in front of a black person’s house, clothes
you cannot take off. that is nature’s mechanism:

everything we saw sprouts, in spite of minor obstacles, long
afternoons, and inner balance, everybody always says: sure

and all the friction invested in transforming love into infinitely
small packages of life is worth nothing: the brier dried, the time extended and clean,

the earth’s unconditional offer to love me rottening in my chest, all around us
free vowels, palms of hands, weed and much more.

AuthorMarko Pogačar
2018-08-21T17:22:57+00:00 June 25th, 2009|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 66|0 Comments