Potres
(iz cikla Lebdenje dveh peres)
Šel je mimo, ko sva si na terasi sedela nasproti.
Pokazal je rane na sivih zidovih, prazne dlani streh.
Ljudje so planili na ulico. Iz ljudi so planili vzkliki.
Ampak zato niso prekinili stare obrti dolbenja v baker.
Ali skakanja z mostu v Neretvo. Peke pit.
Zdi se, da je nekdo spet podaril ciganski deklici
gromozansko liziko in jo je vrgla ob tla.
Ustrašila sva se. Držiš harmoniko kot ruševino,
skozi katero poganjajo drevesa. Podpiram stavbo,
zgrajeno iz krhkih sledi žongliranja. Takšno je
najino mesto, hiše padajo in vstajajo iz klobuka.
Earthquake
(from the Floating of Two Feathers)
It passed by when we were sitting on the terrace opposite each other.
It showed the wounds in the grey walls, the empty palms of roofs.
People burst on the street. Shouts burst out of the people.
But therefore they did not break an old craft etching in copper.
Or jumping from the bridge in Neretva. Baking pies.
It seems somebody had given a giant lollipop as a gift
to the gypsy girl again and she threw it to the ground.
We were scared. You are holding the accordion as a ruin
that trees are growing through. I am lifting a building
made of brittle traces of juggling. That is how our town
looks like, houses are falling and rising out of the hat.
Written, translated & photographed by Uroš Marolt.