Poem
Srečko Kosovel
The Daze of Death
It is silent, it is dead, grey.People flutter
from one stone to another.
Tired of fluttering.
Tired, deadened.
Their hearts are stone,
they cannot water their branches,
cannot cake in hope.
Their hearts are dry.
People sell furniture,
they pawn their hearts,
they pawn their reason
and hang themselves by the window
Suicides,
hanged men,
dangling by the windows of life.
© Translation: 2002, Katarina Jerin
From: Integrals
From: Integrals
SMRTNI OPOJ
SMRTNI OPOJ
Tiho je, mrtvo je, sivo.Ljudje frfotajo
kakor netopirji
od kamna do kamna.
Trudni od frfotanja.
Trudni, ubiti.
Njihova srca so kamen,
ne morejo pojiti svojih vej,
ne morejo dojeti upa.
Njihova srca so suha.
Ljudje prodajajo pohištvo,
zastavijo srce,
zastavijo razum
in se obesijo ob oknu.
Samomorilci,
obešenci,
nihajo ob oknih življenja.
Poems
Poems of Srečko Kosovel
Close
The Daze of Death
It is silent, it is dead, grey.People flutter
from one stone to another.
Tired of fluttering.
Tired, deadened.
Their hearts are stone,
they cannot water their branches,
cannot cake in hope.
Their hearts are dry.
People sell furniture,
they pawn their hearts,
they pawn their reason
and hang themselves by the window
Suicides,
hanged men,
dangling by the windows of life.
© 2002, Katarina Jerin
From: Integrals
From: Integrals
The Daze of Death
It is silent, it is dead, grey.People flutter
from one stone to another.
Tired of fluttering.
Tired, deadened.
Their hearts are stone,
they cannot water their branches,
cannot cake in hope.
Their hearts are dry.
People sell furniture,
they pawn their hearts,
they pawn their reason
and hang themselves by the window
Suicides,
hanged men,
dangling by the windows of life.
© 2002, Katarina Jerin
From: Integrals
From: Integrals
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