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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 106 | volume  | March-April, 2016



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 106March-April, 2016
Poetry

Poetry

Translated from Slovenian by the author and Andrew Zawacki


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p. 1
Aleš Debeljak

The Promise
To My Few Friends
Before a Throne
A Sunday Dilemma

_______________________________________________________________________

The Promise

    I don’t look over my shoulders, no idea
    where I’m headed and not an ounce of fear,
    falling like fluff from an eiderdown quilt,
    sinking in the afternoon air, real as an hour
    of solitude or the fragrance of an herb.
    My wounds are healed over and all five senses
    in sync, harmonized to the birds and the sky,
    the grimy wall of an underpass with graffiti
    scratched in a child’s hand, announcing
    I was here. But not only here, my lord, as you
    know, I go where you want me to be –
    tonight, for instance, I am a wave
    you push across the Old Square, underground
    through a parking garage, over the banks
    of a lazy green river and over the files
    on a drawing desk of another architect.
    Come, a whisper says, and again
    I flood the channel, at one with
    the darkened air above the city and the steppe,
    like the pillow you smooth and soften up
    for someone unable to sleep,
    lying along the world as it slowly goes out.






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