Wednesday, July 24, 2019

Ships by Tomaž Šalamun


I’m religious.
As religious as the wind or scissors.
It’s an ant, she’s religious, the flowers are red.
I don’t want to die. I don’t care if I die now.
I’m more religious than the dust in the desert.
The mouth of a child is round. My eyes are 
syrup, dripping cold.
Sometimes I think I baked nettles, but 
I didn’t. Sometimes I think I’m miserable, but
I’m not. 
I’m religious.
I will throw a barrel into the river.
If bees rushed into my face, I’d scratch 
at them with my hand and would see
I don’t get upset.
The soul presses like the crowds at the door.
When I die, oxen will graze the grass just like this.
Houses will glimmer just like this.

(Translated by Brian Henry)

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