Lives Journal 4

France Merkach 

MY WORD

 

 

MY WORD

 

my word

crouches

chews

irritates

lacerates

the marrow of pain

 

veiled faces

violet-blue

oasis

colors

red-green

cheeks

 

the mole digs

the bee stings

my word

outlines

the ghastly

fascinating

shadow of truth

 

 

 

 

I AND MY NEIGHBORS

 

hidden in hair

drowned

in wrinkles and thin blood

I move

between

the deaf

the blind

the deaf and dumb

the deaf and blind

asking nothing

showing nothing

telling nothing

like a wound-up clock

moving among

others who are wound up

until the spring breaks

or rusts

 

 

 

THE RED ROSE

 

the red rose

blooms overnight

opens petal by petal

gives off fragrance

and sharpens its thorns

 

overnight

the red rose

becomes a flower

a rose-red rose

 

 

 

 

IGNORANCE

 

I don't know                   

whether it's spring           

or autumn              

something ripens             

something blooms           

some things are burnt by the sun

others are bitten by frost

 

I don't know                   

whether I should sow     

or harvest              

perhaps I should a little  

but not too much            

 

 

 

 

A LIVING CORPSE

 

a living

naked sprig

emerges

alone

out of the earth

 

perhaps it will have branches one day

perhaps it will grow strong

 

no bird perches on it

not even a spider

spins a net

 

the wind always whistles

the same tune

the sprig the naked sprig

whistles for nothing

 

 

 

Translated from Slovenian by Herbert Kuhner

 

 

 

Slovenian (gajica)

Slovenian (bohorichica)