Lake

Sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening,

does not depend on me actually,

it never had.


 

That graceful ability of water

to invites us to herself

with almost telepathic grace,

needs no clarification.


 

Nothing happens,

when rush sails toward green hills

and ragged cloud approaches to swan,

when a meter and a half big catfish rises

from the bottom and surprises fisherman's hand.


 

If the sail clings to the wind

and paddle stops in the air,

it is enough to pass by

and withdraw the brench out of the way,

maybe recognize a familiar face

or sit on the edge of a silent backwater.


 

Sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening,

does not depend on me actually,

it never had.


 

But even if I stay inside,

there is no difference

between the boy who picks up a stone

and throws it as far as possible,

and me, throwing through another membrane

what will be written.


 

From the bottom we are both protacted by the surface.

Circles are spreading

behind our backs -

the only trace of this silent game,

which lasts from morning to night.

Jezero

Včasih zjutraj, včasih zvečer,

ni dosti odvisno od mene,

nikoli ni bilo.


 

Tista gracilna sposobnost vode,

da nas zvabi k sebi

z neko telepatsko milino,

ne potrebuje pojasnitve.


 

Nič se ne zgodi,

ko ločje plove proti zelenim hribom

in se raztrgan oblak približuje labodom,

ko se meter in pol velik som dviguje

z dna in vznemiri ribičevo roko.


 

Če se jadro oklepa vetra

in veslo obvisi v zraku,

je dovolj iti mimo

in umakniti vejo s poti,

morda prepoznati znan obraz

ali sesti na rob tihega rokava.


 

Včasih zjutraj, včasih zvečer,

ni dosti odvisno od mene,

nikoli ne bo.


 

A četudi ostanem notri,

ni nobene razlike

med dečkom, ki pobere kamen

in ga vrže, kolikor daleč je možno,

in mano, ki skozi neko drugo opno

mečem tisto, kar bo napisano.


 

Pred dnom naju varuje površina.

Krogi, ki se širijo

za najinim hrbtom –

edina sled te tihe igre,

ki traja od jutra do večera.