Sunday, November 30, 2014

Jan Bolesław Ożóg

Jan_Bolesław_Ożóg [Wikipedia]

Village for a Wedding

Sky like pigeon’s little belly.

Sky like goldfinch egg,
sky like starling’s tune

But fields like sundrenched sea
where roe-deer bound through oats
like fish through sea of rye.

And the village distant from a hummock
like a chain on a bicycle.

Iris in golden glimmer like pilot-flame.

But trees deeprooted like ponds
of green broth.
But grass like prayers
from lips of decaying willows.

And the village distant from a hummock
harrows gouged by nails
instead of stakes.

Lady bugs slide off lindens,
cockroaches to pick in a kerchief.

In barns peasant gears groan
cranking round the chaffcutter,
and frightened wasps play
like a heathen church at high mass.

Red beaks of carrots
circle higher than storks.

And the power station beyond the village
limping on crutches
like bent herdsman on crook.

Here the morning scented with hemp
saltily with bundle of clover.

Here my beloved hides for the night
safe from the boys in the kneading trough.
But up the ladder to the attic
carrying a measure of rye on his back
like a good husband

Here you are invited to the wedding.

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