Poem
Meta Kušar
53.
Legend did not saythat temperament could constrict the town’s heart.
In Trieste we are plundered too, but so differently.
In Vienna it’s made calm by the old blue.
A poet’s art is not ambivalent.
Not repelled by steel, silver, tin.
A banner and his wounds heal.
Neither excuses.
Nor promises.
We know, and are.
© Translation: 2004, Ana Jelnikar & Stephen Watts
53.
53.
Legenda ni pripovedovala,da bo znaèaj umoril središče mesta.
V Trstu tudi ropa, a povsem drugače.
Na Dunaju ga miri stara modrina.
Pesnik nima dvoumnega orožja.
Ne upirajo se mu jeklo, srebro in kositer.
Pokaže prapore in se zarastejo rane.
Nima izgovorov.
Nima obljub.
Ve, kdo je.
© 2004, Meta Kušar
Poems
Poems of Meta Kušar
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53.
Legend did not saythat temperament could constrict the town’s heart.
In Trieste we are plundered too, but so differently.
In Vienna it’s made calm by the old blue.
A poet’s art is not ambivalent.
Not repelled by steel, silver, tin.
A banner and his wounds heal.
Neither excuses.
Nor promises.
We know, and are.
© 2004, Ana Jelnikar & Stephen Watts
53.
Legend did not saythat temperament could constrict the town’s heart.
In Trieste we are plundered too, but so differently.
In Vienna it’s made calm by the old blue.
A poet’s art is not ambivalent.
Not repelled by steel, silver, tin.
A banner and his wounds heal.
Neither excuses.
Nor promises.
We know, and are.
© 2004, Ana Jelnikar & Stephen Watts
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