Two poems from Bosnia
|
Journey to Sarajevo After the first time I never made that journey again by day And longed that the landscape Had remained a mystery. But, even in the dark I still knew That the black hollow beyond the window Was filled with row upon row Of blackened houses, Windowless, hollow-eyed, gaunt. Eventually, such villages held no surprises Except in one, where among the ruins A line of white, freshly laundered washing Stired, just a little, as we sped passed. On later journeys I would lie on my back And stare up through the smudged window Into the night sky So that it seemed That it wasn't the bus turning But the whole galexy above, revolving. Somewhere, Orion stood defient The Plough still furrowed the night sky And a whole myriad of creatures Somehow found their place While I, lying on my back, Thought of the years it took For the light from the stars To reach us here. Sarajevo The slender reed of a minaret Snugly fills the frame Of the rectangular window I look out of once again. A solitary figure, Cupped hands, sings While across the city A church bell rings And just for that moment it seems That the birds fall silent And the traffic recedes. Though nothing impedes The flow of the Miljacka. Sarajevo Is a city awash with sound And the echo of a shell Slamming into a street Still reverberates Somewhere, way beyond Mount Igman. Earlier today I stood on Princip’s Bridge To lob a stone into the shallow river And now make ripples in my coffee with a spoon. |