Michael Biggins, Veno Taufer
inglês
ORFEJ
o pomladi poje pod cvetočo češnjo
v angelskih rokah drži note narobe
poje angelsko žalostno in vražje smešno
ženske in otroci ga gledajo brez zlobe
cvetovi se usipljejo na čelo odmeva mu v glavi
vrane čakajo da sadovi dozore
v grlu mu slina glas ustavi
med zobmi ženske in otroci že čutijo pečké
njegovo srce je ujeda
na nosu mu sedi v oči ga gleda
s sapicami perutnic hladi mu smrtno srago
njegovo srce je ujeda
izkljuje mu oči v lobanjo seda
v zatohli suši grebe s krempeljci za vlago
Extraído de: Jetnik prostosti
Ljubljana : Cankarjeva založba,
Produção de áudio: Študentska založba / Beletrina
ORPHEUS
under a blossoming cherry tree he sings about spring
holds the music upside down in angelic hands
the song is seraphically sad a devilishly funny
women and children watch him without malice
petals flutter down on his brow there’s an echo in his head
crows wait for the fruit to ripen
too much spittle in his throat his voice is stifled
already the women and children can feel the seeds in their teeth
his heart is a bird of prey
it sits on his nose looks in his eyes
cooling his death’s sweat with its flapping wings
his heart is a bird of prey
it pecks out his eyes perches in his skull
its claws scratching in the dry remains for moisture