.jpg)
Sport 8: Autumn 1992
♣ Josef Hanzlik
♣ Josef Hanzlik
Mirror Poem
You must read this poem both of you before a mirror
so you may observe your eyes
and be convinced
that they are still alike
and still tremble
in the conch tones of anxiety and tenderness
read the word eyes
and read your own eyes above the white page
like opening flowers
like a pool in which flowers drown
search them for
the last shade of defenceless pigeon-grey
the last fragment of azure
the last flicker of emerald lightning
read your eyes
and long may you be happy
love each other
for it's not too late
it's never late for two people
who read a poem together
Translated by Jarmila and Ian Milner
Autumnal Words
October wind like Savonarola
rips up the incunabula in the trees
and sienna and rust
and ochre
black
and Bordeaux
free from the delicate illuminations
into the lap of clay
Some words
which as yet have no name
some words as lithe as lilies
huddle together as if in love
as if in anguish
maybe white words or azure words
maybe words like screaming silver
maybe words like silenced death
Ah what printshop owner and what publisher
ah what Johann Gensfleisch Gutenberg
ah what printer with a saffron soul
will set these words of autumn
on silken tissue paper
on gossamer-light paper
on hand-made paper
with the water mark
of two mute hearts?
Translated by Ewald Osers
Winter Love
This pale blue flower
stalk bent backwards
over the edge of cut glass
from Karlovy Vary
as if falling from the balcony
in a fog of despair
a telegraphic act
this flower
like my arm
bent
behind your neck
arm which longs to strangle
or embrace you
and not let go
while on the balconies snow is snowing
and winter is snowing
silently white
like our blood
Translated by Jarmila and Ian Milner
Memorial
What remembrance
what stone stuck in our eye
what sweet death will we two take with us?
Will it be touching
like children's talk to children?
Will it be armfuls of leaves
and cheerful clothes and shoes?
Will it be lost letters
or pure searing pain?
Yes perhaps they'll throw us as crumbs
to the swans on the lake Perhaps they'll only throw us
to the stray dogs Perhaps they'll just wall us
into the piers of the bridge
which will arch over the dungheap
Yes
perhaps we'll get away yet with honour
and save our skin
Translated by Ewald Osers