Poem
Edvard Kocbek
CHURCH IN THE SLOVENIAN HILLS
Dappled tentof weary pilgrims
the protective color
of the wise turtle
lichen of ancient nights
moss of placid forests
the silence of a butterfly —
duration achieved by
patience —
but it is not a sphinx
or a fish
or a fairy dragon
but a weary ox
with a thick head
leaning against the sky
opening at times
his kind eyes
for the fragrant hay
and the intoxicated incense
for a cock in the wind
and bronze bells
he still watches over
the holy manger
connecting existent things
with those not yet created;
there are no cracks
be still, heart
beat softly
so that the message
of the silent parchment
docs not fall
to dust.
© Translation: 1977, Sonja Kravanja
From: Embers in the House of Night
From: Embers in the House of Night
Cerkev v Slovenskih goricah
Cerkev v Slovenskih goricah
Grahasti šotorutrujenih romarjev,
varovalna barva
pametne zelve,
lišaj starih noci,
mah krotkih gozdov,
tišina metulja,
iz potrpezljivosti
sešteto trajanje —
in vendar ni sfinga
niti riba faronika
niti pravljicni zmaj,
to je utrujeni vol
z debelo glavo
naslonjeno na nebo,
dobrotljivo oko
se mu vcasih odpre
za dišece seno
ali omamno kadilo,
za petelina v vetru
in bronaste zvonove,
se vedno zdi
ob svetih jaslih,
ustvarjeno veze
z neustvarjenim.
nikjer ni razpoke,
srce, miruj,
ne utripaj preglasno,
da se sporocilo
tihega pergamenta
ne sesuje v prsih.
© 1977, Edvard Kocbek, Matjaz Kocbek
From: Zbrane pesmi
Publisher: Cankarjeva založba,
From: Zbrane pesmi
Publisher: Cankarjeva založba,
Poems
Poems of Edvard Kocbek
Close
CHURCH IN THE SLOVENIAN HILLS
Dappled tentof weary pilgrims
the protective color
of the wise turtle
lichen of ancient nights
moss of placid forests
the silence of a butterfly —
duration achieved by
patience —
but it is not a sphinx
or a fish
or a fairy dragon
but a weary ox
with a thick head
leaning against the sky
opening at times
his kind eyes
for the fragrant hay
and the intoxicated incense
for a cock in the wind
and bronze bells
he still watches over
the holy manger
connecting existent things
with those not yet created;
there are no cracks
be still, heart
beat softly
so that the message
of the silent parchment
docs not fall
to dust.
© 1977, Sonja Kravanja
From: Embers in the House of Night
From: Embers in the House of Night
CHURCH IN THE SLOVENIAN HILLS
Dappled tentof weary pilgrims
the protective color
of the wise turtle
lichen of ancient nights
moss of placid forests
the silence of a butterfly —
duration achieved by
patience —
but it is not a sphinx
or a fish
or a fairy dragon
but a weary ox
with a thick head
leaning against the sky
opening at times
his kind eyes
for the fragrant hay
and the intoxicated incense
for a cock in the wind
and bronze bells
he still watches over
the holy manger
connecting existent things
with those not yet created;
there are no cracks
be still, heart
beat softly
so that the message
of the silent parchment
docs not fall
to dust.
© 1977, Sonja Kravanja
From: Embers in the House of Night
From: Embers in the House of Night
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère