1. |
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Staggering eyes
can't find a direction,
The houses rise
like enormous
square screens,
triangular screens,
as if the keys
from a strange piano
were swaying
and rising.
People huddled together,
so the building
won't come crashing down.
Quietly leaning into myself
I show them a path
to the field—
so they can be released
from the circles, the spinning.
I summon you, rebels of earth and fire,
brothers of storms and hurricanes,
brothers of shipwrecks and ruins,
brothers of all Europeans’ crushed hearts.
I summon you, brothers of this trampled earth.
Look: there…a blade of grass that greened,
greened and sprouted to life,
brothers of all Europeans’ crushed hearts—
O that love would awaken like the grass
in hearts trampled, poisoned
with anger and hatred, that this song
would sing on high to a small blade
of grass that sprouted to life—
I summon you, brothers with a common love!
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2. |
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In the wind my life sways
like leaves on a trellis.
In the bright gusts
of autumn wind.
And like a wave against the shore,
the piano resounds.
Dark clouds rush in the wind.
A black mirror hangs in my heart.
When I look at myself, my face darkens
throbbing, aching
such as only I know at lonely times.
My life sways in the wind.
In the stormy autumn
wind sweeping across the fields.
Concealed dreams, I love you
shining in my quiet ancient past.
I love you, nightly secrets
lying dead silent over Europe.
Ah, I no longer sing of the soothing
quiet beauty. My poem
rouses the dead, rouses the sleeping.
Concealed dreams, you are revealed.
When I honor you I honor people
leaving behind a path of glowing markers.
I shouldn't go with them.
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3. |
A Streetlamp
03:17
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What would you like to be, man, if it is hard
for you to be man? Become a street
lamp, silently spreading
its gleam on man.
Let it be as it is, for as it is
he has always a human face.
Be good to him, to this man
and impartial as this lamp
silently shining upon a drunkard's face
and those of a tramp and the student
in a deserted street.
Be a lamp, if
You cannot be man;
for it is hard to be man.
Man has only two hands
but he should help thousands.
Therefore be a streetlamp shining
onto the faces of thousand happy ones,
shining for the lonely, for the wandering.
So be a lamp with only one light,
be man in a magic square
signalling with the green hand.
Be a lamp, a lamp,
a lamp.
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4. |
A Poem from Chaos
03:40
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Since we live in chaos
we long for solitude.
Street demonstrations
are like the wild words
of deaf-mutes.
We do not hear
our words
and this is our despair.
But He can see
our emptiness
and will save us.
Since we live in chaos
we long for solitude.
Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
Politics kills, truth kills,
thought kills, religion kills,
everything kills, kills
humanity.
Only a struggle creates force, only a struggle,
a struggle for a new religion.
A new religion of the sun
that shines in people’s hearts,
so their eyes are good,
so their steps are light.
Our dreams are white clouds
on the azure sea.
Only one thing in the world
is still beautiful--the sun.
Only one thing still great:
Sun-man.
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5. |
Fragment
02:04
|
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I’m a weary mirror
reflecting human suffering
Gray and weary
before other mirrors,
I shut my eyes.
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6. |
Golden Windows
04:42
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|
I
Above black forests
the cold day wanes.
Amidst a snowy field
I stand…
Lone castles fade
into the cold evening dusk,
one after another their golden windows
flicker and bleed…
In the distance it's quiet
as though wounds are glistening
on my body,
the wounds ablaze—
I stand without words.
II
Without words I stand,
a wounded man.
A golden flame fading
into the dark.
I stare into endlessness,
all my thoughts—a wound,
all my life—a wound,
I suffer—how I would enter the endless.
How?
III
Hidden cold.
I walk down the road,
happy in my soul.
O, but what if the castles'
golden windows have extinguished?
What if the dawn has sunk
into the forest blackness.
This mute splendor
of golden windows.
(O, who lights them
that I feel inside.)
IV
I could be in Europe
or Australia
or anywhere.
My road burns
like a ribbon
in the cosmic dark.
I'm like a cloud,
a cloud carrying
the evening gold away.
Amidst the field, utterly alone,
amidst the snowy field
between black forests
I feel it: everything glistens.
Look, I'm no longer
alone.
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7. |
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I sit and write. By my window golden fruit. Everything is a poem.
On my window there are no white curtains. Even these red leaves on the trellis: a poem.
A tiger-striped cat watches me. Her eye: a camera obscura. Green secret.
I am thinking of you, leaving like a white swan across red water.
Our cat
has green eyes
like malachite
and eyes that shine
like the evening sky
in winter.
Hey. Hey!
My lover
has a green waist
like a lizard’s,
golden hair,
green eyes,
and a slender body.
Ha, and in my lap
is where she lies.
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8. |
A Red Rocket
02:50
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I am a red rocket,
igniting, burning, dying.
Alas, me all in red !
Alas, me with a red heart !
Alas, me with red blood !
I am relentlessly on the run as if forced to complete myself.
And the more I run, the more I burn. And the more I burn, the more I suffer,
and the more I suffer, the faster I burn out.
Oh I, who would want to live forever.
And I, the red man, go over a green field,
with iron clouds on a blue lake of silence above,
oh, I, the red man, I go, go!
Silence everywhere:
in the field, in the sky, in the clouds, just me fleeing, burning
with my red-hot fire; never achieving silence.
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9. |
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I met her under the autumn stars.
Leaves were falling,
the wind pressed
into a cold veil over the park.
I saw only her coat,
though in dreams her face
glowed silver and white.
Her black eyes half closed…
I met her under the spring stars.
Blossoms were falling,
a fountain rustling…
and the wind
dropped its veil on us.
When I awoke I was amazed
she was no longer there.
Quietly she came
with the stars, and with them she left
into the light of day.
The moon over the city, leaving. I stand on a white shore, alone.
Masts sway at silver daybreak.
I might swim away tomorrow, In a week, in a year. Silence.
My dreams sway as if drunk on moonlight.
Hope, my great Hope! Midnight is like a sea of silence.
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10. |
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Every being is born in suffering.
This we share.
This is not to despair. We struggle in striving.
Happy
Dyanmic
Relative: we look
at life from the distance of Death.
Every day
sailing into great Space
in a white boat of Dreams.
A woman’s kiss is like the sea,
her sails of dark silky nights in spring,
her star-studded brow
glimmers in golden light.
Undecipherable script of another world
to the young dead.
In green India among silent
trees banding over blue water
lives Tagore.
Time there is captured in azure circle,
the clock does not tell the month or a year
but spreads quietly
as if from invisible centres,
over trees and mountains, over the ridges of temples.
There nobody is dying, nobody is bidding farewell;
life is like eternity caught in a tree.
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11. |
Pesem + Kons MAS
03:32
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FataMorgana Ljubljana, Slovenia
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