Janko Ferk
WOMEN'S CREMATORIUM
now i write
on the long way
through the city
i transcribe
from the rows of houses
choirs in another light
i spell pout
the all-encompassing essence
of the songs
but the only thing
i want to hear
is
my own echo –
the soloist's voice
memory
in a dream
i saw
meadows
pastures and fields
people
wheat
flowers and grass
my grandfather
reaping
and my grandmother
with food and a pitcher
when i
woke up
i walked
through
the fields
found
a rusty spoon
between the furrows
and thought of
my grandfather
a stone
i'll tell
a stone
of my loneliness
and it will
show me
its heart
and invite me
to be
its brother
to be
a stone
and it will
promise
moss
to me
and eternal life
Women's Crematorium
conscience
whipped to death
the child
dead in the womb
the withered spirit
drinks,
the blood
of the obviated mother.
a piece
of wild flesh
gallops
to its death
Translated from Slovenian by Herbert Kuhner