A text

Posted on 31st Říjen 2007 in English

 

A SONG ABOUT FOUR STARS AND ONE BUTTERFLY

For Erika

 

 

 

 

I.

Oh as the country behind the port in Rotterdame

waved like the sea and the only way of escape

was so dully coloured.

As… oh, the sea.

Marsupials, venusupials.

The breast of unfinished breakfast,

doors to a bar toilet you can’t close properly.

Fullness of empty pockets

written on a nail with a broom.

As the walls were wide enough

for three carts side-by-side.

They thought of concrete,

the veinscot mournays.

The sound of certainty of order and

the necessity of turtles’ tears,

as if the dreams of mice

became prey of projected owls,

or fresco-like idea of prey,

where I used to dream in colours

of reeds of the meaning of “sofa”.

 

 

II.

 

The wail of yellow blackbirds softened,

blue colour took the little garden’s hand:

it was at the moments of three “v’s”

when the sand in the fur

of the Nasreddin’s donkey

turned into a jest.

White light of yesterday.

Red light of tomorrow.

And ravens, whitened by the climate

of three-legged deciduous hedgehogs.

Sea apples did threw-ins

from water which flew through servant girls

onto pitches, where it was almost all over with us,

by wheeled pots with hotdogs and co,

but you have the septet of colours of bondecolette,

the water of pubic hair,

the shining-white nudity of a yacht.

Oh let us run, and follow the colours of star fish,

before the crying strikes the corridors too!

 

III.

 

How many parts, how many cords do have the bolas

into which the horses who were granted

to see red onion

catch cargo fish which, while pulling out the nets,

roar “Death originates from cats!”

Undermined spray-eyed fish,

friends and relatives,

friends, friends (cannery), friends.

They invest via trilobites

into interdental betrothals,

into the ochre of basket-flower wallows,

because you can capture the fur when it runs too.

Oh, those bolas, such closeness

of their cords!

What a child I’d be,

if I were not able to unknit the igneous flight of their lianas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

comments: 4 »

4 Responses to “A text”

  1. Coningsby napsal:

    You have a style that is all your own, allusive and elusive. May your pen never dry!

  2. Henry Psanec napsal:

    Your chair says thank you!

  3. Aelita napsal:

    That’s a good one. I’m sure Erika will like it :)

    Love from Aelita

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