Gedicht
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,
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Gedichten van Edvard Kocbek
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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.
From: Zbrane pesmi
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
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