I had to decide a start
writing poems again. Besides the ones
I've been writing regulary for some years now. To write
for each new poem one more, a parallel,
different poem. Secretly. I feel that
that there's some sense to this. Something similar
happens to a man with a woman he has
loved, really loved, for a long time. There comes
a need to start loving her again. To begin a new love
next to the old love. Parallel. In silence.
Secretly. And if the love is really an old one
it needs all the more silence, more concentration.
For new and new beginnings and new installments.
for on the outside nothing must be seen to change.
I write this in all sincerity, without irony.
My girl before we make love still
draw the curtains because of people in the street. Even though
in some silence of hers she perhaps climbs naked
into a city bus, her mothly pass in her hand.
What is essential is to know everything and despite that to play
an old simple fairytale. To offer a sacrifice
to gods long dead, precisely because they are.
Moral sem se odločiti, da začnem spet
pisati pesmi. Poleg tisti, ki jih
redno pišem že nekaj let. Da vsaki
novi pesmi vzporedno napišem še eno,
drugačno pesem. Naskrivaj. Čutim, da je
v tem nek smisel. Nekaj podobnega se
človeku dogaja pri ženski, ki jo že
dolgo in zares ljubi. Nastane potreba,
da jo začne spet ljubiti. Da poleg stare
ljubezni začne novo. Vzporedno. V molku.
Na skrivaj. In če je ljubezen res dolga,
potrebuje vedno več molka, zbranosti.
Za nove in nove začetke in nadaljevanja.
Kajti na zunaj se ne sme ničesar opaziti.
To pišem povsem iskreno, brez ironije.
Moja ženska pred ljubljenjem še vedno
zastira zavese zarai ljudi z ulice. Čeprav
v nekem svojem molku morda gola vstopa na
mestni avtopus z mesečno karto v roki.
Bistveno je vedeti in se kljub temu igrati
staro, preprosto pravljico. Darovati obred,
katerega bogovi so že davno mrtvi. Ravno
zato.