Blesok no. 50, September-October, 2006

Three Poems
Translated by: Ewald Osers

Petre M. Andreevski

Love Letter I

(from a cycle Five Love Letters)

Nothing is more visible
and nothing is more present than your absence:
not the childish whispers which I discovered
in the crops of the rain,
nor the hint of storm in the cobwebs
in little roadside bars,
nor aerial paths lit up by swallows,
nor that which acquires shape only my hearing,
nor my hearing while a belated cricket
winds up its nocturnal clock,
nor the birthpangs of the scattered seed,
nor the flaming fire on the cockerel's head
while it runs from the shade that descends from the sky,
nor the space which remains to me between your hands,
between your two hot suns,
nor the snake which ruffles the top of the corn,
nor the snowdrifts and hailstorms in poppy fields,
nor the flame which raises like autumn mist
in the fields of pepper,
nor the love and hatred between key and padlock,
nor the hidden light in a purchased match;
nothing is more visible than the trail you left
before me, behind me, with me and in me.

Love Letter V

(from a cycle Five Love Letters)

And I sought you in textbooks, I sought you across the ages,
in the wind's ambushes, in winter's mortars,
in uncomprehended shame on the horizon before sunset,
in uncomprehended longing of a strand of tobacco
which twists and crumbles between the fingers,
in the displaced light of the blind and the dead,
in the equilibrium between past days and future nights,
in the captivity of souls of glass-blowers.
I sought you in the accents of unknown languages,
in the unsaddled evenings and empty beds in the filed,
in the surprise primrose behind the herb-seller's ear,
in the punctuation in the speech of whining children.
I'm seeking you in the wild chance of unification
of my scattered nation,
in a stalk of sorrel, in the unused air
which annoyed and appeased the neighbouring villages,
by the anvils of hot and feminine afternoons,
among the fruit hastening towards its seasonal goal,
in the needle which sewed up darkness and light.
I sought you beyond the sky, in heavenly molehills,
in the unread electric meter of an extinguished firefly,
in the assassination attempts by my people against my people,
in the undistinguished constancy of the points of the compass,
undistinguished, and understood as a constant waste of time.
I sought you in the unfinished fear of the shooting star,
unable to reach anything in space.
I sought you, I'm seeking you in all and everything.
I sought you, and seeking you I might only have met you,
but not found you, no, not found you.

Round Shapes

(In praise of a woman)

Round are your eyes
and the places from which you regard me,
directing my movements.

Round is your mouth
which takes your words
and glorifies your smile.

Round are your shoulders
and round is your neck,
the only scaffolding from which
my whole native land is visible.

Round are your breasts,
those mobile bell-ringers
and guns raised in ambush.

Round are your nipples
and the honeycomb on them
and the milk mine,
first breeding ground,
first encounter with nourishment.

Round are your groins,
roundly they spread,
evenly they return.

Round is your waist
and the wind spinning round it
like a wheel on its axle,
like yarn on a spindle.

Round is your navel,
that scar of birth,
reminder of the spot
where life began.

Round are your hips
where light is rejected,
only entrances
into darkness and night.

Round are your knees
which I expect to speak to me
and round are your heels
which separate you from the ground.

Round is your embrace
when you kiss me, when I kiss you,
and round is your tear
when you part from me.

Round is the table
where you eat your meals,
and the bread and the plates
are as round as the table.

Round is the apple
you offer your guests
and round is the rainbow
in the water melon you cut open.

Round is the water
which you cup in your hands
and the water which parts for you
to let you bathe.

Round is the seed
which you sow in the field
and round is the downward path
by which its root descends.

Round is the sun and the sunflower
which rises for your sake,
for the sake of your roundness
without it I wouldn't know where to look.

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