Soul blade

by Ana Brnardić


Soul blade

This afternoon at one I play

I unfold my legs, hands, cervical vertebrae

Then I pull out a soul blade from the soil in my belly

Twirling it between my fingers

 

The instrument is old and screeching

Like those old oaks in the forest that will thump down

As soon as some shorthair little animal scurries across

An old person’s fingers

Down into the abyss of the forest deafness

 

The room is getting dark

B-minor scale covers the walls and ceiling

With its jagged crust 

As the eyes return to the depth where they first sprouted from

So they may continue reading in peace that diary

Written out in the music humus by the nails of cold rain

© translated by Damir Šodan

Dušina vlat

popodne u jedan sviram

rasklapam noge, ruke, vratne kralješke

otrgnem iz zemlje u trbuhu jednu vlat dušine trave

i vrtim je između prstiju

 

glazbalo je staro i škripi

kao stari hrastovi u šumi koji će se strovaliti

čim neka kratkodlaka životinjica pretrči preko

staračkih prstiju

u ponor šumske gluhoće

 

u sobi se mrači

h-mol ljestvica hrapavom korom

prekriva zidove i strop

oči se vraćaju u dubinu odakle su nikle

kako bi u miru čitale dnevnik

koji u glazbenoj crnici ispisuju nokti hladne kiše

© Ana Brnardić