Pylons

by Jure Jakob


Pylons

Slanting snow, Sunday open to the sky.

The play of water and cold unfolds

in even, fantastical sequels.

Three figures cut through cluttered pavement

like apparitions. 

I'm seated at the table by the window that's

planted into the thick northern wall.

The child's asleep with breath zooming  

round the room, fisty-fighting the snowstorm.                      

Two thoughts veer headlong on the slippery slope.

They come to a stop at the top, take sledges

from their backs and sit down.

Look, mother 's waving at us.

Look, there.

The sledges go rushing across the white clearing

like crazy,

Gusts of wind and fine snow, back & forthing

a starkly bewildered child's face,

leaning

across the imagined edge.

Then a cough, a moan.

I sit and follow all this

like a vigilant dog,                                                                                          

on guard under the tall pylon

& eat Sunday snow. 

Translated by Ana Jelnikar & Stephen Watts

Daljnovod

Poševen sneg, nedelja, odprta v nebo.

Igra vode in mraza se odvija

v rednih, fantastičnih nadaljevanjih.

Tri postave sekajo neskidan pločnik

kot privid.

Sedim za mizo ob oknu, vstavljenem

v debel severni zid.

Otrok spi in z dihanjem divja po sobi,

kot da se bode s snežnim metežem.

Dve misli se zapodita v spolzek klanec.

Na vrhu počijeta, s hrbta snameta sanke

in se usedeta.

Glej, mama nama maha.

Glej, tam.

Sanke drvijo čez belo čistino

kot nore,

piš vetra in pršec snega si podajata

divje zagledani otroški obraz,

nagnjen

čez zamišljeni rob.

Potem zakašlja, zajavka.

Sedim in sledim vsemu temu

kot buden pes,

na preži pod visokim daljnovodom

jem nedeljski sneg.

Jure Jakob, iz zbirke Delci dela, 2013