"On they go. And the desert attends them." - Gregor Strniša, Stars
don’t believe the landscape’s undulation
opening before you like a wound
inflicted by an unknown hand
remember first your whelping
and the screes you wandered over
with your herd to here and now
between the undifferentiated ebb and flow
of heat and cold
transpired your endless annular hunting for
a bite a swallow and her mammal body
but from time to time those fragile necks
slipped your fangs
and frequently some brother of yours ended up in the belly
of something more indomitable
or was gutted by his own breath
and more and more often it happened
that the one who lay by your side in the night
snarled her foreignness into you the morning after.
and so you awoke some muggy day
all confused and smeared with thirst
as in death throes
clenching the empty fist of your dead-limbed right hand
your fingers your knuckles your joints all
was still and wax
and when at last even your own scream
deserted you to the embrace of an obscure murmur
you jumped away in fear and ran
your wobbling waddle
scuffled from under you
the furrowed face of the windblown land
and, baiting you with the sunlit horizon,
hounded you further into its throat
but the thirst was a steadfast stalker
it become more and more tangible with each completed runstep
and then
in an inscrutable moment
curled the edges of its dusty planes
and offered them to your lips
like a full pitcher
with your exhausted step
it jumped you starved you
with greenery and its fruits blinded you
with it tree-crowns and the view they offer
and yet still you don’t know
when the herd overstepped you
nor even
whether it leaped between you and their congregation
a germ of thirst or burble
all that seems certain
and for that still no more legible
is a grey residuum you scrape from your soles each
time you cross the threshold of your dwelling
because you sense already humanoid
one day on your path
from dust till dust
you’ll feel again a stray seed
of gravel in your shoe
and trip upon your native tongue
"Gredo naprej. Puščava pa jih spremlja." - Gregor Strniša, Zvezde
IV.
ne verjemi razgibanosti pokrajine
ki se razpira pred tabo kakor rana
zadana od neznane roke
najprej se spomni svoje skotitve
in tistih melišč preko katerih
si priblodil s svojo čredo v tu in zdaj
med nerazločljivim plimovanjem
pripeke in hladu
je mineval tvoj krogotočni lov
za ugrizom požirkom in samičjim telesom
toda občasno so se tudi tvojim čekanom
izmuznili krhki tilniki
in ti pustili le nerazumljive vijuge
in večkrat je kak tvoj brat končal v želodcu
česa še bolj neukrotljivega
ali pa ga je zabodel njegov lastni izdih
in zmeraj bolj pogosto se je dogodilo
da je tista ki je ponoči obležala ob tebi
le jutro kasneje izrenčala vate svojo tujost
tako si se nekega soparnega popoldneva
ves zmeden in zlizan od žeje zbudil
kakor v predsmrtnih mukah
si stiskal prazno pest svoje mrtvoudne desnice
tvoji prsti tvoji členki tvoji sklepi vse
je bilo negibno voščeno
in ko je še tvoj lastni krik
dezertiral v objem nejasnega mrmranja
si v strahu odskočil in stekel
tvoje capljavo cepetanje
je spodvilo izpod tebe
razbrazdano lice prepišne dežele
in te z dvoumno vabo prisojnega obzorja
gonilo še globlje v njen golt
toda žeja je bila zvesta zalezovalka
z vsako pretečeno pedjo je postajala čedalje bolj otipljiva
nato
je v nedoumljivem trenutku
skrivila robove prašnatih prostranstev
in jih ponudila tvojim ustnicam
kakor poln vrč
s tvojim obnemoglim korakom
te je zaskočila te izstradala
z zelenjem in njegovimi plodovi te oslepila
s krošnjami in razgledom ki ga dajejo
še sedaj ne veš zagotovo
kdaj te je čreda ponovno obstopila
niti tega ne
če je med tabo in njenim občestvom
preskočila klica žeje ali žlobudranja
vse kar se ti zdi gotovo
in zato nič bolj razumljivo
je siva usedlina ki jo otiraš s podplatov vsakič
preden stopiš čez prag svojega domovanja
ker že slutiš človečnjak
da boš nekoč na svoji poti
iz prahu v prah
spet začutil zablodelo zrno
grušča v čevljih
in se spotaknil ob jezik
