Miroslav Válek - The touches

Miroslav Válek - The touches
(Dotyky)

Since the morning the telegrams keep coming to your home,
the sea of letters floods the house,
telephones began to ring all at once.
It is nothing to worry about, it is nothing to worry about,
it is only that I am calling you incessantly,
re-establishing the broken connection.
I am so lucky they have believed me
at the post office and at the phone switchboard,
that I had a million greetings for you,
that I had a million requests on you :
Do not be angry and,
it is horribly important,
I am almost crazy because of that,
I am horribly in love with you,
leave everything as it it is,
let the water burn in the bathroom,
let the gas flow in the kitchen,
let the foolish mirrors in your room turning,
and come to me by the first train,
come here to the vast plain !
Seven black horses will wait for you at the station,
all of them with a star on its forehead,
the jasmine will blossom,
the pollen will fall from the apricots
softer than your powder Soir de Paris.
Hurry up, on the corner
the evening is already hooting,
blue painted like a vintage car,
the town sun, a screechy worn out vinyl record
shifts down bellow the horizon,
but the one of ours,
the shiny casserole of copper,
sets down delightfully,
and when it touches the earth, it is all heard.
The black bull in the coopertative-farm stable
in a velvet voice finished its lyrical intermezzo,
the plain falls on its knees and prepares to sleep.
The time of shaking off the boots has come,
stamp like some festive parade,
because here in every house the men are like iron
and the sound has space enough for start,
thus everyone's dreams are heard ...
Dreams about :
glass,
stones,
metals,
caresses of hands,
bent index finger knocking on a window,
the fleeting smile you were waiting for
Dreamt are things unspeakable,
things wonderful and simple like a snowdrop
and my eyes on the bottom of your eyes,
we dream dreams
and everything is like a content of the magician's hat.
The night, the black hat with a wide brim,
overturns inside out into the morning.
Only now you can see how palpable the dreams are
The nervous fingers of TV antennas puncture the darkness,
double rows of new houses trot to the villages,
the morning is stuffy like an after-ball ballroom,
the single sad rook in the sky revolves like a fan,
the fat wheat-ears faint with astonishment,
when the local village radio calls in harsh voice :
Come to harvest, come to harvest !
In a moment the village is empty like a blown out egg
Only the grandma sits at the door and silently sings for herself :
"She was sieving the flour
Straight to the wooden floor ... "
Grandma, the poor blind thing !
She used to milk the cows in Herz's farmstead.
She used to pray for long life and lucky death.
Her life has elapsed like the stroke of a whip - it was exactly so painful.
And now she does not know this world at all.
She does not remember the names of her grandchildren, she starts with fear when there is a laugh in the house,
the evening brings her a strange smell of the burnt diesel,
but the earth she takes to her fingers is still good.
It is the same soil as then ...
The dress of silk, sixteen years of age and the long braid
are already gone,
but the plain is still here to stay, the plain is eternal
it only breathes faster and louder.
At the time of feast roast geese fly here,
a sparrowhawk starts to the sky vertically like a rocket,
in autumn the violet rains rain to the gardens,
heavy drops of plums knock on the tired soil.
The plain has given away its frut, it has no more to say and it is silent.
Sleepy, blinded by syrup and sugar, it puts on a quilted coat.
On St.Martin's day comes the first snow.

Jan Skácel - The night travellers

Jan Skácel - The night travellers
(Cestující v noci)

The thefts of gods' property woke us around midnight
We blindly touch around us
and sleepy request the news
how much cool is the night
The dream persists
like an unbroken egg on a rock
And it is the moment when we dream about ourselves
And the centaur has the turtledove's head
With what autumns will we share
the meals of deer
we
who travel at night
and ask in such sleepy voices

Miroslav Válek - A minute before falling asleep

Miroslav Válek - A minute before falling asleep
(Minútu pred usnutím)

I saw a purple-fledged bird
My eyes are full of beautiful dissonancies
In the night ignited by its wings
I am always alone
I am worried
I am crying
I am making up
a while with you among roses
there I am learning you by heart
there I am breathing you
until you say 'stop'
I know that it is prohibited
But wherever you touch my body
it turns into a distinctly vibrating tone
So stop Stop at last
I am your music
the melody that will not leave your mind
you can whistle me
thinking of something else
You are whistling me
You are thinking of something else
it will not leave my mind
Allow me to fall asleep
allow me to fall asleep
fantasy the purple-fledged bird

Jan Skácel - Always

Jan Skácel - Always
(Pořád)

Tirelessly the snow falls all day
as if some hooligans beat to death
with beer bottles
a swan in the sky
and its sad feathers were falling down.

I am so afraid of deadly silence,
of the weight on trees and eternity,
that in the humans ceased.
And I am not a bit ashamed
for my anxiety, lord, you know it.

It falls on me silently, without a word,
as regret in vain,
at least of that we are capable,
waiting for a kind word.
While out behind the window it falls.

And all the time more and worse.

Miroslav Válek - An apple

Miroslav Válek - An apple
(Jablko)

An apple rolled down from the closet to the floor.
So pack your things and you can go.
She leaned with her back to the door
and cried with her eyes :
For god's sake I beseech you, no !
But I knew for good that I had enough;
I stood up,
picked up the apple,
dusty and still green,
and I laid it on the table.
She kept beseeching, she came to the table,
crying.
She looked at me, wiped the apple,
crying.
I told her at last : Put that apple down and go !
The events happened as I supposed.
No matter, that in different sequence !
She opened the door,
I ran down and said : Stay !
But she packed her things and left.
An apple rolled down from the closet to the floor.

Jan Skácel - Seeking cobwebs

Jan Skácel - Seeking cobwebs
(Vyhledávání pavučin)


Decaying tiny spooks live in their stumps
they enjoy living there
as if the time was still made of wood
And all soup spoons
all bridges
and all oak ridges

Behind the wasp nest if you don't ask
you may find that squelched place
where on the lea dances
the god of ants
It's him who with his dance destroys the world

On his six legs he dances from time immemorial
and for the dance that he performs
he threw away his hands
He has nobody
who would wipe sweat from his forehead

He is alone and he alone thumps himself down
to the bottom of creation
and little snails
on the borders of the lea are inching
to their slimy distances

Already millions of years the god of ants
all covered with sweat
and with worried face
does that hard work
On his six legs with his dance he destroys the world

And all soup spoons
all bridges
and all oak ridges

Miroslav Válek - A tree

Miroslav Válek - A tree
(Strom)

A black ghost rambles in the woods
Alone like a finger
he tramples the ground
He shakes his head
having no peace
He finds a bridge
crosses it gets to the town
tramples on the lawns
slams into the walls
destroys the houses
covers his eyes
cries for help
Hair up with scurry
you say :
Has he gone crazy ?
Such a good tree !
You say ! You say !
There are also other things,
you simple-minded good guys !
What does a man
uprooted from the soil in which he lived
deprived of roots
alone like a finger
desperate ?
Looks for his pleace on earth ?
Looks for piece
Looks for a nice branch that will not break down
looks for a tree ?
A black oak rambles in the woods
Avoid him !