Monday, 19 April 2021

Summer - Óndra Łysohorsky

A rocky slope, all overgrown with pine trees
Looks musing down the frothy Ostravitsa.
The summer ripens. Through the crowded branches
The midday sun drifts onto tallgrown grasses.

A net of shadows creeps over your body,
The sky is shining in a gentian blue.
My hand caresses dreamily your rye-ripe
Blond hair, to surging rhythms of the waves.

It feels as though I stroke warm, ripening peaches
In summerheat, on a Vesuvian slope.
I close my eyes. The glowing gulf of Naples.
The heaving billows. Midday. Seagulls’ cries.

Here too, by the Beskides, the cries of seagulls
Hang over the white, foaming Ostravitsa,
Over the quiet ponds, hemmed in by birches,
Light dancers in the movement of the wind.

The seagulls cry. O happiness, in spite of
Tall pine trees glancing anxiously on coalpits.
You speak. I hear the language of our fathers,
Soft as the language of the seas at noon.

photo of River Ostravice by Jan Hovjacký
Jan Hovjacký - River Ostravice

Óndra Łysohorsky [real name Ervín Goj] (1905 - 1989) Czech Republic
Translated by Lydia Pasternak Slater

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