Michael Biggins
english
LAK
Usoda me vali. Včasih kot jajce. Včasih me
s šapami lomasti po bregu. Kričim. Upiram se.
Ves svoj sok zastavim. Ne smem tega delati.
Usoda me lahko utrne, to sem že začutil. Če
nam usoda ne piha na dušo, zmrznemo v hipu.
Preživljal sem dneve v strašni grozi, da sonce
ne bo več vzšlo. Da je to moj poslednji dan.
Čutil sem, kako mi svetloba polzi iz rok, in če
ne bi imel v žepu dovolj quarterjev in bi Metkin
glas ne bil dovolj mil in prijazen in konkreten
in stvaren, bi mi duša ušla iz telesa, kot mi
enkrat bo. S smrtjo je treba biti prijazen. Vse
je skupaj v vlažnem cmoku. Domovanje je, od koder
smo. Živi smo samo za hip. Dokler se lak suši.
From: Ambra
Ljubljana : Mihelač, 1995
Audio production: Študentska založba
LACQUER
Destiny rolls over me. Sometimes like an egg. Sometimes
with its paws, slamming me into the slope. I shout. I take
my stand. I pledge all my juices. I shouldn't
do this. Destiny can snuff me out, I feel it now.
If destiny doesn't blow on our souls, we freeze
instantly. I spent days and days afraid
the sun wouldn't rise. That this was my last day.
I felt light sliding from my hands, and if I didn't
have enough quarters in my pocket, and Metka's voice
were not sweet enough and kind and solid and
real, my soul would escape from my body, as one day
it will. With death you have to be kind.
Home is where we're from. Everything in a moist dumpling.
We live only for a flash. Until the lacquer dries.
© by White Pine Press