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Gedicht

Meta Kušar

3.

You went to eavesdrop under the willow trees.
God himself rolled with
the mist which clung to the shore.
A river with no waves.
The evening smelt of warm raisin cake.
You were happy.
As you had not been in a long time.

3.

3.

Pod vrbe si šel prisluškovat.
Sam Bog se je valil
z meglicami, ki se prijemljejo obrežja.
Reka brez vala.
Večer je dišal po topli rozinovi potici.
Bil si srečen.
Že dolgo nisi bil.
Meta  Kušar

Meta Kušar

(Slovenië, 1952)

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3.

Pod vrbe si šel prisluškovat.
Sam Bog se je valil
z meglicami, ki se prijemljejo obrežja.
Reka brez vala.
Večer je dišal po topli rozinovi potici.
Bil si srečen.
Že dolgo nisi bil.

3.

You went to eavesdrop under the willow trees.
God himself rolled with
the mist which clung to the shore.
A river with no waves.
The evening smelt of warm raisin cake.
You were happy.
As you had not been in a long time.
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