ղľáԾ
REGRET
World, you flatter me so,
but what good is it, at the price of how many
forcible heaves in silence
from heart, pulse, consciousness,
occupied with relating
to being and nothing.
World, you menace me so, you hold back,
as so often before
you are giving me signs from afar.
You command me, correct me,
spoil me
and leave me so.
I dream almost tangibly.
And outwardly I bleed.
WHERE ARE YOU RUSHING
Where are you rushing, pedestrians.
The world is so very quiet
circling, going round. Time to throw
a few gravel-scoops on the asphalt.
CRUMPLED PAPER
Crumpled paper in the dark,
without scraping,
is unsqueezing on the floor
from some memorial fistful.
Steps outside, unavowed
by any obvious chirping
in the calloused snow,
might be presupposed.
But my childhood snow
melts
elsewhere.
RAIN
Million-beaked rain pecking the day;
we cannot rage at him, he is most loyal
when he cares
nothing for us.
Again his care is what kind he shall be,
that is why children flee from him
before grown-ups;
the look of the land spontaneously changes,
it does not cling to its own. Or yes, precisely by
that indiscreet, love-struck wink
aside, and likewise face to face.
SO MANY PEOPLE
So many people pass under our windows
and the asphalt pavement heats like a good fur coat.
I don't want to go out, so at least I breathe
and through my sun's-heart in the corridor
I look
at books scattered about the land.
In a while there won't be a lamb to be seen.
Too bad, but I hold out, already smiling
as I join the other pedestrians
and this is my lot
for life.
RAKING ABOUT IN OLD NOTES...
Forgive me,
I wanted to go with you –
or rather,
instead of you,
that would be
more accurate;
alas, I didn't manage to get equipped
and I too travelled –
it matters, does not matter
– I don't know (a flimsy patch);
on these days
I attended
at the place of my
dwelling
and I did not find anyone,
even myself.
If the next man does not matter to me,
even the world seems irrelevant.
YOU DID A SWEEPOUT
There was a sweepout and things should be clean
in self and surroundings.
You stripped off and that is not
the same. Make up the weight with salt.
Now the thing is not to jump,
not pour out both, not spoil
that fragile ice
which holds and does its work.
I fear children,
a snake bit me.
Here is a table.
It could not be quieter.
I sit,
back to the door,
like a hunchback.
Translated byJohn Minahane
