Par |2019-01-23T12:50:09+00:00 23 décembre 2012|Catégories : Blog|


Yes, these are graves,
life that ended in cer­tain­ty.

Deep in the ground rela­tives and com­pa­nions
among the roots per­mea­ting eve­ryw­here.
Marl pow­der, red black and good soil.
The dust.

It is the flame of olive oil
resem­bling hun­dred years' old light,
in metal candle lan­terns.

Marble stone with ara­bic nume­rals,
cyril­lic let­ters.

Bindweed, dan­de­lion
and hou­se­leek, the cac­tus of our cli­mate…

Aster flo­wers and other spe­cies
various colours of petals, the scentes…

Crosswords made of names, sur­names and years
sil­ver and gol­den lichen cover the ins­crip­tions.

The gar­den ;
ever-fli­cke­ring flame in an oil lamp…
the news­pa­per under it,
world news,
from which time and eter­ni­ty…

where senator's death is of same rele­vance
as RED HAVEN peaches
or JOHN DEERE company's crum­pled ad.


Translated by Ivana Maksić