I speak now. When it becomes apparent at some point, I feel ill at ease.
I do not remember dates and events, gestures,
maxims, deals… It takes time
Typically not reckonable by verse. And again, I often
pray for it to exist, to spread all over the imposed bitterness.
There, I forgot the Spanish expression for happiness
and the equivalent to our word – silence. I keep forgetting
spy novels’ plots: you may easily plant
different twists and turns on me. In a flash, I cannot remember what mint,
tea or rice taste like. I keep forgetting how many times I have dreamt
insects walking over my bedclothes. (Could it be that I place fewer and fewer
things into my memory?) That was how I even forgot the way
Otto Weininger had chosen to overcome life.
The existence of oblivion, however, makes daily continuance easier.
With such oblivion, I meet requirements for staying in reality;
through recollection, already, I recreate poetry.
From one case to another – I rejoice in oblivion.
Translated by Uros Zekovic