Thursday Poem

Father

Last night
I dreamt about you,
father.
You came
into my dream
as a deer
and stood astride
a grassy
mound.

I called you
by your name,
father.
I called you
by the word: father
I said:

Look,
my eyes are
two wet flowers
by the mountain
stream.
Come,
let your warm
deer tongue
dry the dew
that fell upon
my eyes.

And you stood
as in another
world,
as in another
dream,
on a mound,
overgrown with grass.

You shook your
mighty
antlers
and vanished in the white
cloud
of no one’s
dreams.

.
by Peter Semolic
from Bizantinske rože
publisher: DZS, Ljubljana, 1994
translation: 2004, Ana Jelnikar
.


.
Oce

To noc
sem sanjal o tebi,
oce.
V podobi jelena
si prišel v moje
sanje
in se ustopil vrh
travnatega
grica.

Poklical sem te
po imenu,
oce.
Poklical sem te
z besedo: oce.
Rekel sem:

Glej,
moji ocesi sta
dva mokra cvetova
ob gorskem
potoku.
Pridi
in tvoj topli
jelenji jezik
naj osuši roso,
ki je padla
na moje
oci.

Ti pa si stal
kot v nekem drugem
svetu,
kot v nekih drugih
sanjah,
vrh grica,
poraslega s travo.

Otresel si s svojim
mogocnim
rogovjem
in izginil v belem
oblaku
nikogaršnjih
sanj.
.
by Peter Semolic