Poem
Meta Kušar
7.
Half-starved he thinks of cashmereand the Greek sea. He is grumpy, wrapped
in coarse, warm scarves which sting.
The gold fleece in his left hand catches fire.
Will he throw it to the river?
Out of antiquity, dejection leaps.
In the convent garden he collapses beneath
the cherry trees.
Will he be healed by them?
I see two kinds of light in this town.
One is blazing up here on the edge.
© Translation: 2004, Ana Jelnikar & Stephen Watts
7.
7.
Shiran misli na kašmir in grško morje.Sitnari, zavit v grobe, tople šale,
ki pikajo.
V levi roki se mu vnema zlato runo.
Ga bo vrgel v reko?
Z antike skoči malodušje.
Na nunskem vrtu obleži
pod češnjami.
Ga bodo zacelile?
V tem mestu vidim dve svetlobi.
Ena se tukaj na robu vžge.
© 2004, Meta Kušar
Poems
Poems of Meta Kušar
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7.
Half-starved he thinks of cashmereand the Greek sea. He is grumpy, wrapped
in coarse, warm scarves which sting.
The gold fleece in his left hand catches fire.
Will he throw it to the river?
Out of antiquity, dejection leaps.
In the convent garden he collapses beneath
the cherry trees.
Will he be healed by them?
I see two kinds of light in this town.
One is blazing up here on the edge.
© 2004, Ana Jelnikar & Stephen Watts
7.
Half-starved he thinks of cashmereand the Greek sea. He is grumpy, wrapped
in coarse, warm scarves which sting.
The gold fleece in his left hand catches fire.
Will he throw it to the river?
Out of antiquity, dejection leaps.
In the convent garden he collapses beneath
the cherry trees.
Will he be healed by them?
I see two kinds of light in this town.
One is blazing up here on the edge.
© 2004, Ana Jelnikar & Stephen Watts
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