Poem
Dane Zajc
Gothic Windows
Don\'t talk to me.Keep your forked tongue still.
Don\'t look at me.
I don\'t like your eyes.
Different eyes look at me.
Serene like shattered gothic windows.
The sun shot at them.
The arrogant sun.
It shot through them
with thousands arrows.
The stars pierced them
in long mute nights
with slender daggers.
The sharp bright tips danced
before the big motionless eyes.
The moon\'s face opened up:
like a lit cave
her mouth gaping
full of fat rocks of guffaw.
Holy women were dying
with long transparent faces.
The shot wings of white angels
drooped.
The narrow wakeful world\'s eyes closed.
The bright cold death
on the tips of the stars\' rays.
The drunken moon\'s mockery
tumbled in the void.
Don\'t look at me.
Different eyes stare at me.
Narrow. Empty. Dead.
Sad.
2
At night the rubies begin to glow
on your breasts, Magdalena.
Two red rubies under a grey veil.
In the dark of the cathedral.
In the white smoke of snuffed candles.
Throw off your veil.
Throw it off: the dry rustle of sin
in the scent of prayers.
With a dry smack stars will fall
from your head.
In a clear jet the stars will pour
from your eyes into my open mouth.
The rubies of your body
will drop into my lap.
The moon will lick your hips
with a red tongue of passion.
Throw off your veil, Magdalena.
Tomorrow you will stand in the drizzling
light of the sun
naked. Humiliated.
Mine.
3
White arms in the sky.
White legs on a rock.
White holy women in tall windows.
Holy women in red lights.
A body wrapped in a red veil.
I am a marble angel.
An angel without faith.
White legs.
White arms.
A body wrapped in grey canvas.
The angel that cherishes the holy women.
The holy women undress at the windows.
The sun sees through their backs.
The yellow. The red.
The holy women undress slowly.
Their bodies evaporate in smoke.
Only their arms remain.
Only their legs remain.
A sign in the blue sky.
Solitude on the white rock.
A black cross desintegrating
in the ancient eyes of the cathedral.
© Translation: 2000, Dane Zajc, Sonja Kravanja
From: Scorpions
From: Scorpions
Gotska okna
Gotska okna
Ne govori mi.Miruj s svojim preklanim jezikom.
Ne glej me.
Ne maram tvojih oèi.
Druge oèi gledajo vame.
Mirne kot razbita gotska okna.
Sonce je streljalo vanje.
Objestno sonce.
S tisoèerimi pušèicami
jih je prestrelilo.
Zvezde so jih prebadale
v dolgih gluhih noèeh
s tenkimi rapirji.
Ostre svetle konice so zaplesale
pred velikimi nepremiènimi oèmi.
Obraz lune se je odprl:
kakor razsvetljena votlina
so zazijala njena usta,
polna debelih kamnov krohota.
In umirale so svetnice
z dolgimi prosojnimi obrazi.
Povesile so se prestreljene peruti
belih angelov.
In zapirale so se ozke bedeèe oèi sveta.
Svetla hladna smrt
na konicah zvezdnih zarkov.
Pijanski zasmeh lune
se je prekopicnil v praznini.
Ne glej me.
Druge oèi strmijo vame.
Ozke. Prazne. Mrtve.
Zalostne.
2
Zveèer zazarijo rubini
na tvojih prsih, Magdalena.
Dva rdeèa rubina pod sivo tanèico.
V mraku katedrale.
V belem dimu ugasnjenih sveè.
Odvrzi tanèico.
Odvrzi jo: suhi šelest greha
v vonju molitev.
S suhim tleskom bojo padle zvezde
s tvoje glave.
V svetlem curku se bojo potoèile zvezde
iz tvojih oèi v moja odprta usta.
Rubini tvojega telesa
bojo padali v moje naroèje.
Mesec bo lizal tvoje boke
z rdeèim jezikom strasti.
Odvrzi tanèico, Magdalena.
Jutri boš stala v pršeèi svetlobi sonca
naga. Ponizana.
Moja.
3
Bele roke na nebu.
Bele noge na kamnu.
Bele svetnice v visokih oknih.
Svetnice v rdeèi luèi.
Telo, zavito v rdeèi pajèolan.
Jaz sem marmornati angel.
Angel brez vere.
Bele noge.
Bele roke.
Telo, zavito v sivo platno.
Angel, ki ljubi svetnice.
Svetnice se slaèijo v oknih.
Sonce gleda skoz njihove hrbte
Rumeno. Rdeèe.
Poèasi se slaèijo svetnice.
Njihova telesa spuhtevajo v din
Ostanejo le roke.
Ostanejo le noge.
Znamenje na modrem nebu.
Samota na belem kamnu.
Èrni kriz, ki razpada
V starih oèeh katedrale.
© 1990, Dane Zajc
From: Pemsi
Publisher: Emonica,
From: Pemsi
Publisher: Emonica,
Poems
Poems of Dane Zajc
Close
Gothic Windows
Don\'t talk to me.Keep your forked tongue still.
Don\'t look at me.
I don\'t like your eyes.
Different eyes look at me.
Serene like shattered gothic windows.
The sun shot at them.
The arrogant sun.
It shot through them
with thousands arrows.
The stars pierced them
in long mute nights
with slender daggers.
The sharp bright tips danced
before the big motionless eyes.
The moon\'s face opened up:
like a lit cave
her mouth gaping
full of fat rocks of guffaw.
Holy women were dying
with long transparent faces.
The shot wings of white angels
drooped.
The narrow wakeful world\'s eyes closed.
The bright cold death
on the tips of the stars\' rays.
The drunken moon\'s mockery
tumbled in the void.
Don\'t look at me.
Different eyes stare at me.
Narrow. Empty. Dead.
Sad.
2
At night the rubies begin to glow
on your breasts, Magdalena.
Two red rubies under a grey veil.
In the dark of the cathedral.
In the white smoke of snuffed candles.
Throw off your veil.
Throw it off: the dry rustle of sin
in the scent of prayers.
With a dry smack stars will fall
from your head.
In a clear jet the stars will pour
from your eyes into my open mouth.
The rubies of your body
will drop into my lap.
The moon will lick your hips
with a red tongue of passion.
Throw off your veil, Magdalena.
Tomorrow you will stand in the drizzling
light of the sun
naked. Humiliated.
Mine.
3
White arms in the sky.
White legs on a rock.
White holy women in tall windows.
Holy women in red lights.
A body wrapped in a red veil.
I am a marble angel.
An angel without faith.
White legs.
White arms.
A body wrapped in grey canvas.
The angel that cherishes the holy women.
The holy women undress at the windows.
The sun sees through their backs.
The yellow. The red.
The holy women undress slowly.
Their bodies evaporate in smoke.
Only their arms remain.
Only their legs remain.
A sign in the blue sky.
Solitude on the white rock.
A black cross desintegrating
in the ancient eyes of the cathedral.
© 2000, Dane Zajc, Sonja Kravanja
From: Scorpions
From: Scorpions
Gothic Windows
Don\'t talk to me.Keep your forked tongue still.
Don\'t look at me.
I don\'t like your eyes.
Different eyes look at me.
Serene like shattered gothic windows.
The sun shot at them.
The arrogant sun.
It shot through them
with thousands arrows.
The stars pierced them
in long mute nights
with slender daggers.
The sharp bright tips danced
before the big motionless eyes.
The moon\'s face opened up:
like a lit cave
her mouth gaping
full of fat rocks of guffaw.
Holy women were dying
with long transparent faces.
The shot wings of white angels
drooped.
The narrow wakeful world\'s eyes closed.
The bright cold death
on the tips of the stars\' rays.
The drunken moon\'s mockery
tumbled in the void.
Don\'t look at me.
Different eyes stare at me.
Narrow. Empty. Dead.
Sad.
2
At night the rubies begin to glow
on your breasts, Magdalena.
Two red rubies under a grey veil.
In the dark of the cathedral.
In the white smoke of snuffed candles.
Throw off your veil.
Throw it off: the dry rustle of sin
in the scent of prayers.
With a dry smack stars will fall
from your head.
In a clear jet the stars will pour
from your eyes into my open mouth.
The rubies of your body
will drop into my lap.
The moon will lick your hips
with a red tongue of passion.
Throw off your veil, Magdalena.
Tomorrow you will stand in the drizzling
light of the sun
naked. Humiliated.
Mine.
3
White arms in the sky.
White legs on a rock.
White holy women in tall windows.
Holy women in red lights.
A body wrapped in a red veil.
I am a marble angel.
An angel without faith.
White legs.
White arms.
A body wrapped in grey canvas.
The angel that cherishes the holy women.
The holy women undress at the windows.
The sun sees through their backs.
The yellow. The red.
The holy women undress slowly.
Their bodies evaporate in smoke.
Only their arms remain.
Only their legs remain.
A sign in the blue sky.
Solitude on the white rock.
A black cross desintegrating
in the ancient eyes of the cathedral.
© 2000, Dane Zajc, Sonja Kravanja
From: Scorpions
From: Scorpions
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