Anglické preklady/ English
thief-woman of a dark
You have an album full of
photographs of snow
You took these pictures
almost from everywhere
And all the negatives
of these stolen winters
you hid
under your skin so deep
as deep as you are...
the end of my every journey is return...
I am leaving my town now...
I let the street lamps standing here
which are dropping the dark from
in the Night
which are changing into the little wasting Suns
by day
I go along the squawking bird-packs
& I watch how the multicolored birds
fall in the snow totally exhausted
I’m passing by the mysterious buildings
Right here
strange & arid figures sit round the tables
& greedily drink
while they haven’t been thirsty anytime
at all
I meet some pregnant children
the aged young women
They care about the dolls with big & fleecy breast
in theirs pink baby buggies
So that I live for leaving from here
against the wind
upstream & anticlockwise
illegally & annoyingly
out of order but
also with hope for
home-coming...
reflections
A mirror
broken on the stones
at the bottom of a little river
There’re many
shiny fragments
with reflections of
painful whitening
of fish bellies
We’re standing
on the bank
patiently
Holding the fish-hooks
in our abrasive hands
& always just trying to hunt
only those fish
which
swimming away
in the fragments
of broken mirrors...
patient thrill
An amazement
hit us
Everything is nearer
than life before...
We free went down
from the sky
steeled heaving
by its clouds
We gently laid down
on the water level
holding by
a DAM
that will disclose us
every little secrets
about
injustice of the seaweed
hidden next to its roots...
There’re slippery stones
in the world
where everything have been
dancing all the time
& these stones are still patiently thrilling
& musely waiting
for a chance
barefoot
leg...
bad habits...
A watch spit the pips of seconds
around my room
I’m stumbling over these sharp dots
& I gulp them
without any appetite
I’m insulting nowadays -
- Who could be contented
with all spending years
sticked on a neck
with their tongues in an ear?
I give up!
No more pride...
Perhaps I’m still not too good
for you?
Indeed I’m just a bitterness
on my own tongue
& maybe
there’s only one importance
on the Earth -
- never
accustomed to
time...
„chaining“, rising, growing...
We are joing in the common chain
One to one
Everyone is a piece in fire
forged of blood
/Everyone is the same in the flame.../
Nobody is first!
There is a possibility to spark
from anyone of us -
- if we are close /together/...
We are really relatives!
Also in the tension
what makes us
embrance strong each other
& try to touch
the midnight light...
But after the chain-burst
nobody will keep lasting
being orphaned
like
a lost little shiny adornment
that’s waiting in the mud
for wrapping up itself
in a rusty solitude...
to her
(dedicated to Iveta)
A wind growling in her hair
She`s naked
and chaste
Maybe she`s here
or nowhere...
She`s proud to hide her entirety
She`s naked
and diffident
She`s boiling
fermenting
fidgeting
A wild Flower of a sin
springing in her hips
She`s naked
and multiplied
Maybe she`s here
or everywhere...
instant destiny
There are the cubes of ice
falling from
the tired eyes
sketching on the city walls
and We`re imprisoned inside
We believe
that someone will fling us
to his juice
or at least
will let us melt
inbetween his toes...
Hope...
tear -off dream-book
I will tear up your dream
When you take up the receiver
telephone will put out its tongue
I`m tearing up my dream
that is still lasting
in every
suspensions
And also
wasting ballads of losing
blind talks
mute merges
All these things
saw my waitings
(and tear up my dreams)
Without the wire
Alone
With the daybreak turned off
It`s still
ringing...
impatient
Potatoes and Apples
roasted on desire`s fire
Seems like the embers
what suffering scream
on their own funeral
When I swallow them
still yet barren...
a law
On a borderline
inbetween the world and dark
A foetal moment has been poured
from the broken elapse of time
Someone had cried over there
at the corner of the blind street
& Someone else had forgotten his own
in the painless whirlpool
Something is beginning
& Everything else is just a way to the End
Gentle
prodigious penetrates
agnostic loves
abrupt appearings
All these things paralyse the Mind
by their every movement
Maybe
That`s the reason why
The Big Beginning begins
The End returns back
and the universal law of the world
still stays on
Without any respite...
hope
A water has evaporated
from the fire
Only
the roasted promise remains
Like a memory for the heat
life
and Flowers
Then
I hope I can sprinkle
a dry cold in His eyes
and I will pray
for the warmer
ray...
winter nocturnos
It`s cold
The Sharp Flowers of winter
are sucking in
under the nails
Somewhere
they`re binding the ringing songs
of a Birth
Fragrant melody
swims in the biting air
down to the lake
where all the fish got a frozen smile
on their gills
under the tough lake surface
Maybe
A tear shine will appear
in your eyes
because the crystal fragility of this moment
gently slides
the icebergs of time
year by year to the Past
And only then
tired snowflakes will fall
on the Earth`s lullaby
They`ll wish goodnight
themselves
within the last pirouettes
and in a close embrace
They`ll complete
a milk blanket
of the Land...
schizophrenic blues
motto: "Je est un autre."
Jean Arthur Rimbaud
I caught a club
heavy and cold
Then I cruely
hit a trembling body
lying
near by my legs
When it was over
Having opened my eyes
I perceived my own
in the puddle of
a hot
growing
thick
pain...
anger
Tensing words
Hot eyes
Exhaustive steps
and there`s a pummeling at the door:
"Open your hearts!"...
a refuge
(Unfinished painting)
There`s
a wet bunch of grapes
on the wooden table
without a cloth
and alongside here lies
a dissected trout
and a glass of lemon squash
an old violin
and handwritten poem
on the yellow paper...
Suddenly
Someone opens the door
wind catches the poem
and sticks it
on the grapes...
belated bells
Heavy grief of church bells
grow softer in the bristly snow
Impertinent frost proudly gnaws
hungry throat
Naked passions are dying
Freckled angel with his wing in the plaster
chucks the vanilla custard
on his nose
Once more
Those bells will wave
And the frost will stick again
their song
to your ears
For ever...
evening
A day has dislocated his ankle
on the edge of the late Moon
Stardust choking
Dry coughing
Into the dark ornaments of Night
I go outside
to breathe some silent
evening sadness
Through the rustle of cabs going astray
and tripping barefoot sleeplesses
Through the discarded burn downed poems
and patience of proud street lamps
Grouping in shiny dark
I meet a black cat
and spit her three times
by the superstitious verse
Then I`ll wrap it
into a warm pillow...
P
Magic Magnetic Paris
in the painful steps of Henry Miller
Beardy Paris
in Hemingway`s lazy thirst
Asking Paris
in a space inbetween my last verses
Headless Paris
fallen on the Place de la Concorde
Silent Paris
where Monet thought about Thames
Behind my back
I feel the transparent eyes
of poetic Paris whores
who are counting the years
to the dirty boulevards
co-ordinated to wine paintbrushes
oval winnings
famous towers
And they`re looking forwards to death
while they write down on the ground
by the wings of Sin:
"Paris is a naked sentence."
look!
If you looked through the window probably you can see tired chimneys maybe leady snow or You can`t see anything
If you looked on the river probably you can see rusty fish and greasy stones maybe broken fish-hooks or You can`t see anything
If you looked in my books probably you can see Baudelaire with his opium eyes and tanny Rimbaud without one his leg maybe naked Ginsberg or You can`t see anything
If you looked on the bath probably you can see a few Christmas carp scales and the lost little hairs of innocence maybe pieces of some cheap soap or You can`t see anything
If you looked at the TV probably you can see nine sophisticated ways how to kill a Man and four public coituses maybe one smiling and nodding idiot or you can`t see anything
But
If you looked at this (and everything else) for more than one time
you can see that only looking is not sufficient
or You can`t see anything at all...
he has removed
(dedicated to M.Š.)
At a cemetery
At a place of timeless cognition
At that appalling housing of crosses
At that compost of stone tears
All the people are crying here
So deep crying
All are fusing
Together
I`m not a masher...
eternity of the counterpoint
A Day`s
looking at the glowing lies
in a delusion
through the key bone
of the old house gate
The teethless windows
signed by the stone messages
of fired children
are smiling at the Day`s face
There`re
rustling dead spiders
caught in their own
cobwebs
on the floor
Neither
twelve Cézanne`s refuges
that are dropping the apples from
can rejuvenate
the wrinkly walls here
On the bottom
of the Last room
There`s
a naked innocent
Widow
lying
in the pit of subtle eyelashes
Her eyelids
had grown together
`cause she has never known
Her
name...
about the looking for tenderness
Hungry wolves
Howling
in the fragile wreck of tenderness
Dusty thresholds
signed by the thousand passes
Borders and Bridges
Steady and Perennial
They`re slowly rising
in our minds
The World has come
from the betrayal
and still goes on betrayed
like a timeless Léthe
in her bed of early
Sins
We`re hungry wolves
staying in front of
the locked gate
of Love
Compassion
and lost Tenderness...
unreal rain
Reality
is the cloud
that`s raining
from
There`re
some people who are promptly taking out
their umbrellas to stay always dry
Other ones will stay
for a while
and then will run away
to hide somewhere
And others
just like to be
wet through...
going wrong
A Mind
returning back from the nebulous horizons
Sparklets fly away
It`s sparkling
what waits for us yet?
what kind of mystery is on the way?
We`re living
at a dusty courtyard
With a limp dog
that`s powerless to bark
to get up
to bite at least
or just to wag his tail
to die
At the moment
everything`s turned
Not conversely
But just like to the other side
Since that times
I`ve suspected that
all the ways
leads out of Rome
But where?
And why?
Maybe
Sometimes
One of these ways will return back to Rome again
and any Rome will not be there
Because
There was only the Way
for lost
motherless
rovers...
antique motive
Spoilt Athens
in the middle
of the singing spirals of orgasms and wings
went out in soft cramps
A Shy cold tympanum
of died myths temple
felt down
from the eyes of Zheus
Like a silent raving before a sleep
when bare pillars count
the pressure
to trickling Sins
Prometheus hunted
the flying fire fish
above the Earth`s grave
He flung it to curious fishermen
and came back to the mountains
before midnight
For ever
Smoked amphitheatre ceremonies
Onehand dialogues
decorated in the blood and divine nakedness
Drowning spiral of sounds
Plastic copulation of waves
A shadow curtain is throttling
the stage
Naiades are pulling the actors`s legs
into a hungry mire
with a tongue
in their ears
Exodus!
Hero is dying at the End of the performance
...errare humanum est...
A last Antique butterfly
Stripped off from the stone leaves
Spread his wrinkled wings
to the Sun
Dumb
in the mirrors of narcissueses
He spilt a fever
into the wistful girl`s palms
of a blind virgin
Shy Elysion in his heart
and He
- everlasting cupidus
in that time of sweet chances
in a prayer of Aliveawakeness
He turned to the Sun
to the beginning of the End
and back again
from the Sun to the Moon
to the Earth
to the diminutives of Oedipus`s mistakes
The Enlightenment went down
for dumb philosophers
Above the glasses full of bitter hemlock
Through the closed eyelids
They pushed their eyes into their heads
and They found a geometry of Life
So Unique
So Disproportionate
So Dying
Like my spring getting dry in Boeotia...
late love
And we are late again
for tide...
We`ve got a bad luck
Always
We have come
when everything has gone
And I`m afraid
to say:
"I love you"
`cause it wouldn`t
be the truth already...
a loss
(the game goes on ...)
I`m classifying my goods
in an expensive collection
of cheap losses
The dust sticks my fingers
into the fists
And the clock sob
in the morning
I`m swaping the pages
in the album
There are many yellow
and bristly garlands
on every page
(They still shine here
about one hundred years
Hidden and Dry)
Today
I`ll stick
on the last page
my loss with
Poetry...
sorrow
Pale woman hand
With the blue snakes
of vains
scars
losts
Resigned pride
children
Sharp Sun
jumps
into a storm
calendar
Yellow Wavy Vienna Secession
Senile Late Youth
Pendant punch
Born...
they`re sure in realism
Winged vaginas
in a closed milk bottle
Penises with the gills
All they`re dying
in the dry aquarium
of this atomic moment...
little wooden horse
Behind the dusty glasswall
she put
His first stammering Words
Sights
Defiances
but Tameness
not yet
blood of unborn
Red sweet apples
fallen down
Nobody picks them up
morning
Come to drink from my little hairs
A Ship got four chimneys
Throw the coal to my face
Barked wire on a Sun wrist...
music
Fire in the snow
burns the marble
A Day will return
and You`ll stay
a prayer
Forgive me! Forgive me! Forgive me!
Forgive me! Forgive me! Oh, forgive!
Then I`ll let you come to me
and I will strike my roots in your wasteland
The Roots of Eliot`s tree...
nobody`s land
Blue Yellow Red Brown
Green
& Black
Everything dissapears
in One White...
birds
Will you find love?
There`re the greasy feather
flowing
on the little lake surface...
solitude
Broken pitcher
Slice of bread
Cold cofee
and one word
cemetery
There`s
a crying dog
behind the town...
rain
Chimney jogged on a grey panorama
Biting eyes
mercies
The white roses
trampled down
in the wet ground
the end
Empty cross
Snow footprints in the blood
prisoner
I`ve a dream
that all the rivers
flow in
to the Dead Sea...
wheels
High Moon`s
spitting
the Stars
into the silver pools...
desire
Fire is a
wasted desire
of cold embers...
sparkling
Attention!
The fires are falling
from us...