Metal\'s perfidious song

Man snaps like a reed in the
scrape of a rusty swing.
While the tube closes into its dark
a child gives him a delighted wave.
Not knowing when to stop,
not hearing the perfidious song of metal,
not seeing the lamp, the axe,
the arm grown to a staff.

The water nourishes the reed and smoothes it,
the water from which the glassy
surface of memory grows.
The swing scrapes on one side,
on the other the reed squeals,
in the mud from which there’s no escape,
in a gurgle, in a clank, in a slap,
in a flight that fades before the wings.

The man closes the window, draws the curtains,
plugs his ears, starts to sing.
But his vocal cords let him down,
redouble the swing’s scraping,
the perfidious song of metal,
fade to black the lamp, sand and sky.
When speechlessness rules space,
the universe thunders without:
“Look at me, daddy!”

Podmukli pjev metala

Podmukli pjev metala

U škripanju zahrđale ljuljačke
čovjek puca kao trska.
Dok se cijev zatvara u svoj mrak,
dijete mu radosno domahuje.
Ono ne poznaje granicu,
ne čuje podmukli pjev metala,
ne vidi svjetiljku, sjekiru,
ruku uraslu u štap.

Voda hrani i miluje trsku,
voda iz koje niče
staklena površina sjećanja.
Ljuljačka zaškripi na jednoj,
trska zacvili na drugoj strani,
u blatu iz kojeg ne može van,
u klokotu, u zveketu, u lepetu,
u letu koji se gasi prije krila.

Čovjek zatvara prozor, navlači zavjesu,
čepi uši, počinje pjevati.
Ali glasnice ga izdaju,
udvostručuju škripanje ljuljačke,
podmukli pjev metala,
gase svjetiljku, pijesak i nebo.
Kada nijemost zavlada prostorom,
izvana zagrmi svemir:
\'Tata, pogledaj me!\'