Three Poems

Mute and Time

C major in the cup, C major in the cup, the train started to pant under the sleeve, to soak itself like a snake and rush toward the elbow. A flamingo removed the scythe, what to do with a scythe, the whetted scythe that could harm his eye. The little end-pieces cut into the clouds. Clouds packed with clinkers always pull through. If they’re black, if they’re white, if they’re dark, if they’re the autodidacts. Now we push snow. I don’t even see the tendrils. We don’t know how the vine will bear. Violent with the soft melancholy of the plain, revered, again I feel besunken. Let’s do it: The king has no clothes on. The emperor is naked. His eyes are twisted. I, twisted them for him. Translated from the Slovenian by Thomas Kane and the author Rižana’s Delta All these are blue, feathery tunics. Little Annes, parasomnambulants. When mushrooms die, mischievous comets, buckets in wells, a thunderous bass voice only starts to announce God’s loan. Italians failed and hastily at that. Horses want répeté. Are you the reed’s bimba? Will the flat line of white bowels form silt? I’m used to lying on river sand. On river sand, on river stones. I’m used to lying in mud. On sea rocks, on round stones. But this is frothy sea bottom, luka marittima. Lucca on heroin. Remove little towels. Form little knees for the elephant’s young ones with veins. When did they bring pencil sharpeners among razor blades in Zagorje? To alpine Mittelbach. I lie under a mosquito. Incessantly, close to the white wall of my kaič. We’re back, close to reeds in the Rižana. In a little hole made by a snail, not breathing. What else: crickets, fishlets, the ham of a backwards tribe’s dance, gnats, red buttons and elephants, now strengthened by the vision of Maximilian the First’s who spoke Slovenian: “Čebri so dreki. Parazoli so luštni. Hanibala sonce prežge.” Beauty, anoint my palm. Be involved with the lion-hearted. Collect the history for patches. Row! Translated from the Slovenian by Thomas Kane and the author --- Not a balance, nor bread, nor a pine forest I know, that would glitter so strongly in the moonlight. In the black chest the housewife lay in flour. Young Mary has mustaches above her upper lips. How fanatically she kisses the hare! He’ll die of overdose and nod with his ears down. Mother hare will wash him, She’ll try giving him aspirin through his white little teeth. I stepped on a frigate. I had a bundle on my shoulders. I greeted the captain, I said to him, good day, guy. Translated from the Slovenian by Michael Thomas Taren and the author