Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Gordana Benić

And the Moon Sinks Into the Swamp

Angel Emanuel saw there was Moon no more, no birth, no life, no death
    The souls of the dead dwell in gardens, among the ants. They are the elder gardeners in the rainforests

Grey windows and the wall, sections of railway track, may be observed from several kilometres’ distance
    Parts of boats hang above the rails, illuminated; sandy bottoms conceal vast fragments of reality

I saw the statue of the Virgin, a Black Madonna with hollow eyes, sitting in blossom with the Christ Child, and the other, hanging above the hill on a field of golden stars
    Our Lady under a baldachin, adorned with a crown of shining leaves. She walked across the sandy beach in silence

The man born Elton Jones changed his name to Meadows. At the last many a pilot would fain fly in Harriers, until a sacred lightning halted them at the wave’s edge
    When the soldiers drowned, so many asked John the Baptist: what shall we do? It’s an unusual tale

On the fourteenth day after the spring tide and the Full Moon, the holes in the villas of the Roman Patriarchs became solid ground
    Those who procured gold, amber and precious spices in strange ways, they blossomed in the canopies, among dog roses

The stormwind blew a woman from the high hill. She floated above the valley’s yellow fern, silently she came to earth encircled by the wide hem of a black robe
    Since then no one in Lubenice, high on the cliff, remembers history; only the clouds pass in through the windows, rest upon the terraces

I Mjesec tone u močvari

I Mjesec tone u močvari

Angel Emanuel vidio je da više nema Mjeseca, nema rađanja, života, ni smrti
    Duše umrlih obitavaju u vrtovima, među mravima. Oni su najstariji vrtlari u kišnim šumama

Na udaljenosti od više kilometara mogu se vidjeti sivi prozori i zid, dijelovi željezničke pruge
    Nad šinama lebde osvijetljeni komadi broda, pješčana dna skrivaju velike odlomke stvarnosti

Vidjela sam Bogorodičin kip, crnu Madonu šupljih očiju, kako s djetetom Isusom sjedi u cvijeću; i onu drugu, što lebdi ponad brda na pozadini od zlatnih zvijezda
    Pod modrim bladahinom Gospu ukrašenu krunom od blještavih listića. Hodala je preko pješčanih plaža u tišini

Onaj koji je rođen kao Elton Jones promijenio je ime u Poljan. Napokon su mnogi piloti u Harrireu željeli letjeti, sve dok ih neka sveta munja nije zaustavila na rubu vala
    Kad su se vojnici utopili, mnoštvo pitalo Ivana Krstitelja: što činiti? Neobična je to priča

Četrnaestog dana poslije plime i punog Mjeseca, šupljine u vilama rimskih patricija postale su čvrsto tlo
    Koji su na čudne načine priskrbili zlato, jantar i dragocjene začine, rascvali se u krošnjama, među šipcima

S visokog brda ženu je otpuhnula bura. Lebdjela je nad žutom paprati doline, okružena širokim rubom crne haljine bešumno se prizemljila
    Otada u Lubenicama, visoko na stijeni, nitko više ne pamti povijest; samo oblaci ulaze kroz prozore i počivaju na terasama
Close

And the Moon Sinks Into the Swamp

Angel Emanuel saw there was Moon no more, no birth, no life, no death
    The souls of the dead dwell in gardens, among the ants. They are the elder gardeners in the rainforests

Grey windows and the wall, sections of railway track, may be observed from several kilometres’ distance
    Parts of boats hang above the rails, illuminated; sandy bottoms conceal vast fragments of reality

I saw the statue of the Virgin, a Black Madonna with hollow eyes, sitting in blossom with the Christ Child, and the other, hanging above the hill on a field of golden stars
    Our Lady under a baldachin, adorned with a crown of shining leaves. She walked across the sandy beach in silence

The man born Elton Jones changed his name to Meadows. At the last many a pilot would fain fly in Harriers, until a sacred lightning halted them at the wave’s edge
    When the soldiers drowned, so many asked John the Baptist: what shall we do? It’s an unusual tale

On the fourteenth day after the spring tide and the Full Moon, the holes in the villas of the Roman Patriarchs became solid ground
    Those who procured gold, amber and precious spices in strange ways, they blossomed in the canopies, among dog roses

The stormwind blew a woman from the high hill. She floated above the valley’s yellow fern, silently she came to earth encircled by the wide hem of a black robe
    Since then no one in Lubenice, high on the cliff, remembers history; only the clouds pass in through the windows, rest upon the terraces

And the Moon Sinks Into the Swamp

Angel Emanuel saw there was Moon no more, no birth, no life, no death
    The souls of the dead dwell in gardens, among the ants. They are the elder gardeners in the rainforests

Grey windows and the wall, sections of railway track, may be observed from several kilometres’ distance
    Parts of boats hang above the rails, illuminated; sandy bottoms conceal vast fragments of reality

I saw the statue of the Virgin, a Black Madonna with hollow eyes, sitting in blossom with the Christ Child, and the other, hanging above the hill on a field of golden stars
    Our Lady under a baldachin, adorned with a crown of shining leaves. She walked across the sandy beach in silence

The man born Elton Jones changed his name to Meadows. At the last many a pilot would fain fly in Harriers, until a sacred lightning halted them at the wave’s edge
    When the soldiers drowned, so many asked John the Baptist: what shall we do? It’s an unusual tale

On the fourteenth day after the spring tide and the Full Moon, the holes in the villas of the Roman Patriarchs became solid ground
    Those who procured gold, amber and precious spices in strange ways, they blossomed in the canopies, among dog roses

The stormwind blew a woman from the high hill. She floated above the valley’s yellow fern, silently she came to earth encircled by the wide hem of a black robe
    Since then no one in Lubenice, high on the cliff, remembers history; only the clouds pass in through the windows, rest upon the terraces
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère