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(From the book of poems Devotion)
Sniper Alley - Sarajevo
Oceans of sin
gushing
On the streets
With determination
From the hill
On the corner
Dead woman
Little puppies are
Licking the milk
Spilled from her breast
II
What is war?
Nothing special,
It’s something
In which
Only others die
And always the friendliest,
And the most beautiful comrades.
And this is everything.
XX
Friend…
- how sweet is the word -
You leave and return
On horseback or on foot
Honey and bronze
comrade knight
You’re still there
On hills of bread,
On corners of wheat fields,
In the sugary scent of wine cellars.
I am letting you know
That I’m no longer a volunteer keeper
Of the wind or the roar of the sea,
Everything’s different, has been changed now.
I carry those puddles of your blood
On my boots
And your shots jingle in my ears
And time just keeps passing,
And passing.
XXX
“The War is over!”
I hollered drunk day before yesterday
Staggering on some moist street
Of the Budapest of my lovers.
The War is Not Over
Came the news from the front
“A Portuguese volunteer died last night”
I must never get drunk again.
XXXV
After a war describable with the greatest of
ease
To honor all tradition
One spends a few nights
Sitting on the edge of the bed
Sleep is at most an experiment
Then
Nothing else remains
But an odd itch on the right leg
And the constant scratching for an imaginary
flea
XXXVII
Like butterfly drowned into a glass of milk
Like cloud shot down by a rocket by mistake
Like doves killed in a planned blaze
Like a brimstone and steel struck city
Like bunch of parsley in the hand of the
unburied
Like water dribbling away in canals
That’s how my morning good mood escaped
Which I woke up with on your side
My May dawn.
Sniper Alley - Sarajevo
Oceans of sin
gushing
On the streets
With determination
From the hill
On the corner
Dead woman
Little puppies are
Licking the milk
Spilled from her breast
II
What is war?
Nothing special,
It’s something
In which
Only others die
And always the friendliest,
And the most beautiful comrades.
And this is everything.
XX
Friend…
- how sweet is the word -
You leave and return
On horseback or on foot
Honey and bronze
comrade knight
You’re still there
On hills of bread,
On corners of wheat fields,
In the sugary scent of wine cellars.
I am letting you know
That I’m no longer a volunteer keeper
Of the wind or the roar of the sea,
Everything’s different, has been changed now.
I carry those puddles of your blood
On my boots
And your shots jingle in my ears
And time just keeps passing,
And passing.
XXX
“The War is over!”
I hollered drunk day before yesterday
Staggering on some moist street
Of the Budapest of my lovers.
The War is Not Over
Came the news from the front
“A Portuguese volunteer died last night”
I must never get drunk again.
XXXV
After a war describable with the greatest of
ease
To honor all tradition
One spends a few nights
Sitting on the edge of the bed
Sleep is at most an experiment
Then
Nothing else remains
But an odd itch on the right leg
And the constant scratching for an imaginary
flea
XXXVII
Like butterfly drowned into a glass of milk
Like cloud shot down by a rocket by mistake
Like doves killed in a planned blaze
Like a brimstone and steel struck city
Like bunch of parsley in the hand of the
unburied
Like water dribbling away in canals
That’s how my morning good mood escaped
Which I woke up with on your side
My May dawn.
Eduardo Rózsa Flores
(Hungary)
(This english version of Eduardo Rózsa Flores
poems was translated from hungarian by Laszlo Hege,
NewYork)
This poem is a song to the humanity.
Excellent!
Thanks.
MaLena.
Simpleza infinita que nos une
que nos llama y nos confunde.
Y es que todo nos mueve al mismo espíritu
donde el tiempo nos envuelve,
nos amarra y estremece.
Un beso para tu alma.