Vso noč je komandant
spredirljivim, razkošnim smehom
lupil vonj sladkih mandarin
s stasa natakarice.
*
Blato ji bodo nametali čez oči.
*
Otroški vojaki so stopili v hišo
in pograbili branjevca z zelenjavo,
njegova sinova, jezljivega starega deda,
in jih postrelili klečeče
v svojih sencah.
*
Mati prebira pokoro na rožnem vencu.
Otrok v njenem trebuhu širi oči.
*
Pred sodnim zborom je vojaški sekretariat
krivil sámo Mater Naravo –
velik in nenaden peščeni vihar, ki je povzročil
obžalovani ogenj. In nihče ni mogel obsojati
zgodovine vetra za izgubo spomina
ali pozabljive zgodovine ognja.
Niso bila omenjena zapahnjena vrata
niti bencinski tanki, kot škrbine razsejani.
Ledeni obraz vladnega sodnika
je menil, da so novoovdovele priče
pretirano čustvene. Nezanesljive.
*
Vas je bila razgaljena do rane.
Dva škorpijona sta se spopadla v talilniku peska –
vprašaj njunih repov ožiga zrak.
*
Dečki so naredili ogromno gledališče
iz kosov razbitih stebrov dvorišč.
Otroška Generala sta postrojila moštvi
za igro Strojnice proti mečem.
In potem bahanje
in nato ra-ta-ta iz njihovih ust,
da so se zdele strojnice resnične
očetom Revolucije, ki so opazovali,
se opredeljevali, kričali in podžigali.
*
Na zadnji steni zbombardirane mošeje
molitveni zvočnik podpira Prerokov posnetek
o odpuščanju v času jeze.
A mujezin je v prahu dregnil z ovratnikom,
zdaj prasketa in prasketa
v fanfari njegovega glasu.
*
Tule sta razglednici, ki ju ni bilo mogoče odposlati.
Žuželčje priostrene oči pod varljivo plahto lune,
ki trepeta nad njenim morsko zgubanim obličjem.
Obris okostja,
ki jo ponoči obiskuje,
njegovi nezavedno vzdignjeni
roki, še zmeraj
roteči
Milost
*
Gorski vojaški tabor,
pet ljudi vodijo dol po strmem pobočju,
potem globoko v redek gozd.
Tu nihče ne bo nič povedal.
Gora je mirna in neizmerna.
Kanje tihe v svojem poželenju,
zgolj listje oljk sika proti nebu.
Prevod: Veno Taufer
All night the Commander,
With a high, baronial laugh,
Peels a scent of sweet mandarin
From the waist of a waitress.
*
They will heap mud over her eyes.
*
The boy soldiers entered the house
And rounded up the market gardener,
His two sons, his fiery old grandfather,
And shot them where they crouched
In their shadows.
*
A mother counts penitence in her rosary.
The baby in her stomach grows eyes.
*
At the tribunal, the army secretariat
Blamed Mother Nature herself—
A great and sudden simoom that caused
The sorry fire. And nobody can condemn
The amnesiac history of the wind,
Or the amnesiac history of fire.
They did not mention the bolted doors,
Or the gasoline tanks strewn like tooth stumps.
The frost-bound face of a government judge
Deemed the newly-widowed witnesses
Over-emotional. Unreliable.
*
The village has been stripped to a wound.
Two scorpions scrap in a crucible of sand—
The question mark of their tails singeing the air.
*
The boys have made a giant playhouse
From the rubbled stanchions of the razed compound.
Two kid Generals line up teams
For a game of Guns vs. Swords.
And then the swashbuckle
And then the rat-tat-tat from their mouths
To make the guns seem real
For the onlooking father’s of the Revolution
Who pick sides, shout and cheer.
*
At the far wall of the bombed-out mosque,
A prayer tannoys back the Prophet’s take
On forgiveness during times of anger.
But the muezzin dragged in the dust by his collar
Now cracks and cracks again
Against the tantara of his voice.
*
These are two of the postcards that could not be sent.
Beetle-nib eyes under the slivery sheet of a moon
That quakes over her sea-wrinkled face.
The profile of the skeleton
Who visits her by night,
His mechanical arms
Upraised, still
Pleading
Mercy.
*
At the military mountain base,
Five men are led down its steep side
Then deep into the shallows of a grove.
Nobody will tell the story here.
The mountain is quiet and infinite.
The buzzards silent in their appetites,
Only the olive leaves hiss back to the sky.