Poem
Srečko Kosovel
A Suicide in front of a Mirror
A suicide in front of a mirror.A frightened soul.
The wind moans in the black woods.
The night\'s tempest tears my heart from my chest.
My spirit, you are the Flying Dutchman,
always returning to the primal darkness,
getting drunk on the blowing of the wind!
A policeman blowing his whistle.
It is frightening to be a brother to the storm!
Frightening to be a brother to the silver sun.
Stay broken and slain, my spirit,
do not look to the dead slopes for salvation.
I walk through the woods. The tree trunks are black.
Two go leaning towards each other.
The black chasm of the universe above me.
I am leaning into it
and listening.
I walk through the woods. The tree trunks are black.
Two go leaning towards each other.
The black chasm of the universe above me.
I am leaning into it
and listening.
© Translation: 2002, Katarina Jerin
From: Integrals
From: Integrals
SAMOMORILCC PRED ZRCALOM
SAMOMORILCC PRED ZRCALOM
Samomorilec pred zrcalom.Splasena dusa.
V crnih gozdovih jeci veter.
Nocni vihar mi trga srce iz prsi.
Leteci Holandec si ti, moj duh,
vedno povracajoc se v pratemo,
opajajoc se, kadar vihar vrsi!
Na ulici vrsi svojo sluzbo policaj.
Strasno je, kdor je viharju brat!
Strasno, kdor je soncu srebrnemu.
Ostani, moj duh, razbit in ubit,
ne isci rešitve od crnih bregov.
Grem skozi gozd. Crna so debla.
Dva gresta sklonjena drug k drugemu.
Nad menoj crno brezno vesoljstva.
Jaz se sklanjam vanj
in poslusam.
Grem skozi gozd. Crna so debla.
Dva gresta sklonjena drug k drugemu.
Nad menoj crno brezno vesoljstva.
Jaz se sklanjam vanj
In poslusam.
Poems
Poems of Srečko Kosovel
Close
A Suicide in front of a Mirror
A suicide in front of a mirror.A frightened soul.
The wind moans in the black woods.
The night\'s tempest tears my heart from my chest.
My spirit, you are the Flying Dutchman,
always returning to the primal darkness,
getting drunk on the blowing of the wind!
A policeman blowing his whistle.
It is frightening to be a brother to the storm!
Frightening to be a brother to the silver sun.
Stay broken and slain, my spirit,
do not look to the dead slopes for salvation.
I walk through the woods. The tree trunks are black.
Two go leaning towards each other.
The black chasm of the universe above me.
I am leaning into it
and listening.
I walk through the woods. The tree trunks are black.
Two go leaning towards each other.
The black chasm of the universe above me.
I am leaning into it
and listening.
© 2002, Katarina Jerin
From: Integrals
From: Integrals
A Suicide in front of a Mirror
A suicide in front of a mirror.A frightened soul.
The wind moans in the black woods.
The night\'s tempest tears my heart from my chest.
My spirit, you are the Flying Dutchman,
always returning to the primal darkness,
getting drunk on the blowing of the wind!
A policeman blowing his whistle.
It is frightening to be a brother to the storm!
Frightening to be a brother to the silver sun.
Stay broken and slain, my spirit,
do not look to the dead slopes for salvation.
I walk through the woods. The tree trunks are black.
Two go leaning towards each other.
The black chasm of the universe above me.
I am leaning into it
and listening.
I walk through the woods. The tree trunks are black.
Two go leaning towards each other.
The black chasm of the universe above me.
I am leaning into it
and listening.
© 2002, Katarina Jerin
From: Integrals
From: Integrals
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