Znamenje
Oljke v pravilnih vrstah so znamenje,
da je pokrajina stara. V zeleno vodo
rezervoarja so potopljeni njihovi trepetavi
spomini. Zbudijo se, ko gladino prestreli
padec olive. Jesen. Njihovo izgubljeno potomstvo
se zaradi majhnosti zdi oddaljeno,
a je polno močnih koščic, divjih sokov.
Gospod z ukrivljeno palico sedi na trgu,
s soncem na ramenih, koreninami v mozaiku tal.
Prihaja čas, ko premiki ne bodo več nujnost.
Oljke v pravilnih vrstah so znamenje,
da so drevesa našla gotovost in način potovanja,
v katerem je dovolj prostora za dihanje in ples.
Tako stara pokrajina je, da se tega ne spomni
nihče. Po napajalnih kanalih odteka voda,
pod bleščečim odsevom prhni tiha usedlina.
A Sign
Olive trees in the regular lines are the sign
the landscape is old. In the green reservoir water
their trembling memories are immersed.
They wake when the surface is shot through
with a fall of an olive. Autumn. Their lost descendants
seem distant because of their smallness,
but are full of strong pits, wild saps.
A man with a curved stick is sitting in the square
with the sun on his shoulders, with his roots in mosaic of the ground.
The time is coming when the moves will not be a necessity anymore.
Olive trees in the regular lines are the sign
the trees have found certainty and the way of travelling
with enough space to breathe and dance.
The landscape is that old nobody can remember.
Water is flowing through the channels, under
the shiny reflection a quiet deposit is falling apart.
Written, translated & photographed by Uroš Marolt.