Blesok no. 21, June-July, 2001
Poetry


My Pupils Grow Wide…
Translated by: Zoran Ančevski

Ivica Anteski



The Programme of My Waves


The programme of my waves
corresponds to an arm that first
moves in a straight line then vibrates
with a myriad of Hzs and makes me
feel that something is happening
that the arm is put to some good use
as it moves first in a straight line
then in a perfect harmonious tremour
to give someone a gentle stroke




My Pupils Grow Wide


My pupils grow wide to
embrace the light to
accept the street with all its
people with all its signs pavements My
pupils open and become
large dark spots where sink
all windows where parts
of rooms are framed
and all portraits of women of all
men in the same street My
pupils grow wide open
enlarge to an enormous size
become black holes where
sink the sun and the moon
and all other planets especially
the earth especially
the earth




Darkness you Rider


Darkness you rider
There are somewhere two sailors who
do not believe the existence of
the sea Ride on darkness
you rider There are two hermits
in a desert who can
prove the existence
of deserts Darkness you rider
There are somewhere two birds who
cannot invent a word
for the sky Ride on
you darkness My cells that
exist cannot define
me O darkness you rider




I Reject


With my eyes rolling I reject all thought
that the earth is round and that it turns
day and night

I know the cause for its turning
during the day but I don’t accept the idea
that it also moves secretly at night retaining
the same radius and the same silver
sword encrusted with living birds

With a blow of a shield I reject all belief
that perhaps the solar system is
controlled by human vanity

I understand vanity and can sense its
wind in my sail but don’t
understand how some don’t accept
the fact that it’s too small to be above
the order of the solar
system




… Prometheus…


A very simple prometheus dreams
of the olympian hardware In
the liver of a very simple
prometheus develops a culture
of a potential disaster

The Olympus with all its gods and
cars driven by solar power
remains foreign to a very simple
prometheus from the city

Every bus that comes down
from olympus carries a prometheus
chained in honour of
millions of new inventions




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