Bygones cannot by bygones.
Only streets and squares have forgotten the smell of fire.
Only fields
have forgotten the taste of blood.
Iron forsaken still bleeds with rust.
Bygones cannot be bygones.
Time's not a beast, it cannot
lick its wounds
with a rough moistened tongue.
We bear its wounds within.
Hidden by commonplace words,
a reticent pause, half-smile, half-prayer...
Hidden in a yellowing letter
or a visionary tombstone...
The wounds we hide with a baby's palm,
with our daily, unyielding routine,
with Chopin or Bach...
We wish they were soothed by a kiss...
They don't heal, though. They bleed
at the touch of a thoughtless hand...
And in peace now and then
they bloom out into glimmering roses
or poems...
Faustas Kirsa (1891 – 1964) Lithuania
Translated by: Lionginas Pazusis
Only streets and squares have forgotten the smell of fire.
Only fields
have forgotten the taste of blood.
Iron forsaken still bleeds with rust.
Bygones cannot be bygones.
Time's not a beast, it cannot
lick its wounds
with a rough moistened tongue.
We bear its wounds within.
Hidden by commonplace words,
a reticent pause, half-smile, half-prayer...
Hidden in a yellowing letter
or a visionary tombstone...
The wounds we hide with a baby's palm,
with our daily, unyielding routine,
with Chopin or Bach...
We wish they were soothed by a kiss...
They don't heal, though. They bleed
at the touch of a thoughtless hand...
And in peace now and then
they bloom out into glimmering roses
or poems...
Faustas Kirsa (1891 – 1964) Lithuania
Translated by: Lionginas Pazusis
Source: A European Collection of Social Poetry and Art (1800-1950), Elba Partnership, 2008
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please keep your comments relevant and free from abusive language. Thank you. Note that comments are moderated so it may be a day or two before your comment is posted - irrelevant or abusive comments will not be published.