HVAR

The smell of lavender, the island’s symbol, keeps rising
to our bed by the sea. In the long corridors
of continental sleep, tradition falls apart
and thousands of miles of writing fade in paper.
Here I forget that I’ll probably
end up as a philosopher, and learn there are
days more powerful than the images
I use to describe them. When we make love, red light
sets fire to the sea and every touch of my palm records itself
in the mandala, every swallow’s flight
and every move of my hand with which I calm the whirlwind
and stifle your scream so as not to wake the sleepers
from the cemetery above the sea. Whatever I may say
or write, in truth, I know of nothing to bow down to
or worship except love. And being so far
from time, it is difficult to believe we are chasing a fair wind,
sailing in parallel stories, and only once in a while, borne on a high wave,
come close to one another to breathe through the silence together,
the silence in which we weigh the rain of our earthly days.
And being so far from time, it is difficult to believe
there is a relentless old lady
whom we greeted with our first cry and who now
has taken shelter in our shadow. And being so far
from time, it is difficult to believe the inevitable
falling into the depths of her eyes could also be,
as all things are, part of a higher, cosmic plan.
We live for bright moments. For footprints
left on the beach, untouched by the waters
of the opposing seas of past and future.
Never for densely packed garbage,
uprooted by pain, yet, at the end, forgotten
even by the most persistent and talented memory.
For the boat that will take you across Lethe
you always await alone. Arcadia is entered by twos.

HVAR

HVAR

Vonj sivke, emblem otoka, se nenehno
dviguje do najine morske postelje. V dolgih
hodnikih kontinentalnega sna razpada tradicija
in tisoci kilometrov pisave bledijo na papirju.
Tu pozabljam, da bom na koncu verjetno
koncal kot filozof, in spoznavam, da obstajajo
dnevi, mocnejši od podob, s katerimi
jih opisujem. Ko se ljubiva, rdeca svetloba
zaziga morje in vsak dotik dlani se vpisuje
v mandalo, vsako vzletanje morskih lastovic
in vsaka kretnja roke, s katero mirim vihar
in dušim tvoj krik, da ne zbudi spalcev s
pokopališc nad morjem. Naj govorim
in pišem kar koli, v resnici ne poznam
nicesar, kar bi lahko castil in cemur bi
se lahko poklonil, razen ljubezni. In ce si
tako oddaljen od casa, je tezko verjeti,
da lovimo ugoden veter in jadramo v
paralelnih zgodbah, se le vcasih, nošeni z
visokim valom, priblizamo drug drugemu,
da bi skupaj predihali tišino, v kateri
tehtamo dezevje naših zemeljskih dni.
In ce si tako oddaljen od casa, je tezko
verjeti, da obstaja, stara, neizprosna gospa,
ki smo jo pozdravili s prvim jokom in zdaj
vedri v naši senci. In ce si tako oddaljen
od casa, je tezko verjeti, da je mogoce
tudi neizbezno padanje v globino njenih
oci, tako kot vse stvari, del višjega, kozmicnega
nacrta. Za svetle trenutke zivimo. Za sled stopal,
ki se odtisnejo v mivko in jih voda, nasprotujocih
si morij preteklosti in prihodnosti, pusti
nedotaknjena. Nikoli za na gosto posejan
odpadni material, ki ga iz zemlje izkoplje
bolecina, a na koncu pozabi tudi najbolj
vztrajen in izurjen spomin. Na coln,
ki te bo prepeljal prek Lete, vedno
cakaš sam. V Arkadijo se vstopa samo v parih.