Svijet se umorio vidim ispred Woodwardsa
na Hastingsu i ne mari za tihu i isto
tako umornu kišu koja ni po čemu nije nalik
na bubnjavu Tinova dažda u mojim venama
uzalud nastoje magikom raznobojne svjetlosti
nadomjestiti plamenu paradu sunca
samo tromi pokreti božićnih igračaka
u ostakljenim izlozima Downtowna
uporno satima čekam satkanim od zebnje
da se nećemo možda ni danas sresti
a i kako bismo se prepoznali u mnoštvu
sada već promrzlom na zlokobnoj kiši
evo dolazi razroka noć koja nam pretvara sjene
u svoje bezumno lice i naličje
a nad svim gospodari veliki Mag nade
dok mi duša plače izbodena trnjem čekanja.
(Vancouver, 1. 12. 1988.)
_______________________________________
DOWNTOWN WAITING
People are weary I see in front of Woodward’s
on Hastings and care nothing for the silent, just as
weary rain that is nothing at all like
the throbbing of Tin’s downpour in my veins
in vain it would with the magic of varicoloured light
substitute the flame parade of sun just the torpid
moving of the Christmas toys
in the Downtown glazed displays.
I wait persistently for hours composed
of apprehension that perhaps we will not meet today
either and then how could we recognise
each other in the crowd
by now frozen in the boding rain
and look, squint-eyed night
is here to turn our shadows
into its own insane this side
of the coin and that,
and everyone is mastered by
the great Magus hope while my soul cries pierced
with the thorns of waiting
(Vancouver December 1, 1988)
Post je objavljen 22.01.2011. u 10:08 sati.