Lives Journal 10

Matjazh Jarc 




I no more proclaim


My love I do no more proclaim - aflame

I am a scented candle in its fire

More fragrant as the flame grows ever higher

I melt to be extinguished just the same


Through soulís oppressive silent frame I aim

To hear the bliss of song and I aspire

to worship painful anguish I admire

with my eyes shut I suffering disclaim


This taste Iím tasting brings her fresh to mind

When coming or when fading all away

Through every sense I feel her touch so kind


I always paint her in the nicest way

Become her while my miracles unwind

Substance, form donít hold me in their sway.






Like love itself, as simple and as true

It floats above the worlds so very bright

Setting auras of the gods alight

Above our heads it shines its friendly hue


Its clarity elates us through and through

Its teardrops flow like waterfalls of light

Its dreams are palaces where Iím a knight

with you my loyal lady ever true


No harm can come to us when weíre aglow

Our world is woven out of threads of gold

Among them we can find ourselves and grow


We can its essence pure in reverence hold

Each moment born again from tip to toe

We learn to love as much as we can know




No it is not Time yet


No it is not time yet to repose,

too early still to draw the bottom line

to tally up and utterly resign

to drape myself in final resting clothes


Oh, you who wrap me in your darkened twine

Please leave more time before my sunlight goes,

and make it so that my heart truly knows

to cherish every moment so divine!


Allow these thoughts to form and fully sound,

And for these songs beneath the bloody sky,

to be in harmony with sunbeams bound.


Donít rush me now to say my last goodbye,

Before I clear these things, which all around

I uselessly amassed in high supply.




New Times


In winter joyful music does resound;

and in chords through bright of white it streams

my hair grew silver from delightful dreams

from memories of love that shook the ground


all else impenitent desire drowned

and oozed in sweet excruciating creams

and heat hat melted penguins, so it seems

a bee from ember freed there flew around


And how the heavenís barrels smelled of wine

our sheets made waves in this remebered past

those days you chose to smoke the Drina line


and now you smoke no more, an age has passed

now look and see our life is still just fine

for these are not old times but new at last.




Translated by Jaka Jarc




Slovenian (gajica)

Slovenian (bohorichica)