Резултати претраге

The Quicksands

How nice, when a-he marries
how sad, when a-she marries,
a rubber puck hits into the boards,
goals are lacking, no-one passes.
In the ruin of facades, hidden behind a scaffold,
former young for quarter and food,
we drag through time, half suffocated
in the quicksands of provincial manners.
 
They slammed the door? We sneak through the back,
cursed into the Book of forests, waters and slopes,
a packed mouth announces, behind the shop-window,
that the end of dreams is the end of love-making.
A rubber puck hits into the boards,
if the pocket is empty, no-one gives away,
no, it is not pretty, when a-he marries,
no, it is not sad, when a-she marries.
 
To be a lousy actor- what's more in this world:
if lacking drama, a small operetta will do
a rubber puck hits into the boards,
can't be done from the side - proceed then from the middle
A Hussite berates armoured vehicles
and time asks for many a head,
if you're left without it - what's the brains for
in the quicksands of provincial manners?
 
The scaffold hides paranoia of the facades,
babbling of fools instead of a dialogue,
until you give out in peace, nothing's left but to drink
to drown the rest of courage and defiance.
You fill in your name, place of birth
and a number of figures, the kind one does not admit to
so it goes, when a-he marries,
so it goes, when a-she marries.
 
From school, children bring report cards,
wonder if they suspect, what is it you dream about,
when at night you do the ironing, growing old over a baking tray?
About a bit of love, the kind one does not get.
You buy bread, an after-shave
and denounce faith, the kind one does not hold
so it goes, when a-he marries,
so it goes, when a-she marries.
 
Silence hides the paranoia of living,
you keep quiet and decorate windows for the celebration,
more than soul, a living is worth
in the quicksands of provincial manners.
From wild passion, a lukewarm caress
muteness falls on the frozen water,
a rubber puck hits into the boards
and just a few weeks left until divorce.
 

The Inner German Question

I have been going since a certain time to a Munich nightclub
A human beast stands in the door and shouts at me: Mr. Neighbour!
I turn around and silently think of my human rights
He says nothing, the good-for-nothing. In his stead spoke his right hand.
 
What previously was my judgement now stood in the headline:
Freedom is indeed indivisible
and yet, you can separate it.
 
What more does one need than a beach by the sea in this idyllic world
The arias of holidays and sleep in the camp tent
But he who is clever knows the message: the idyllic world becomes hungry
and the young hero gets the tent as clothes for the work camp
 
What previously was my judgement now stood in the headline:
Freedom is indeed indivisible
and yet, you can separate it.
 
It will undoubtedly let the devil loose when I dare to say
How uncomfortable is the inner german question to somebody
How shaky is the solitary confinement behind the concrete wall!
Because: perhaps wins he who bends freedom, but never permanently!
 
What previously was my judgement now stood in the headline:
Freedom is indeed indivisible
and yet, you can separate it.
 
What previously was my judgement now stood in the headline:
Freedom is indivisible!
You shouldn't divide it
You shouldn't...
 

Let him sleep

He fell asleep on that ground covered in soot,
his head is lying on the wall with eyebrows,
he doesn't want revenge, he doesn't want revenge,
paralyzed right hand packed in the slate,
he dreams that he'll bring her the Ramses' crown,
if she'd like to, if she'd like to.
 
Let him sleep, so he doesn't know anything,
let him sleep, with a basalt on the breast,
for long time an unknown wayfarer was missing,
let him sleep, let him sleep.
 
In the blooming hemp he'll grasp her gently,
to honor the reunion he'll prevent grannies from
doing the fasting, doing the fasting,
to the left under the head a dirty envelope,
in the end of letter instead of signature
an imprint of lips, the imprint of lips.
 
Let him sleep, so he doesn't know anything,
let him sleep, with a basalt on the breast,
for long time an unknown wayfarer was missing,
let him sleep, let him sleep.
 
At the end of the street a burned down village,
from the bricks and from the brickwork quietly is heard
a squeaking of mice, the squeaking of mice,
he fell asleep on that ground covered in soot,
with a hole in temple the skylark calling
he won't hear, he won't hear.
 
Let him sleep, so he doesn't know anything,
let him sleep, with a basalt on the breast,
for long time an unknown wayfarer was missing,
let him sleep, let him sleep.
 

Thankful

God created, God created a sprig,
so I could bind wreaths,
I'm thankful, thankful for pain,
that teaches me to question.
I'm thankful, thankful for setback,
that teaches me the diligence,
so I could, could bring a gift,
though no strength was left,
I'm thankful, thankful, thankful.
 
I'm thankful, thankful for weakness,
that teaches me the humility,
humility, humility for joy,
humility without the chains,
for tears, for tears I'm thankful:
they'll teach me to fell,
to living, that, to living, that wail
and shout for pity,
I'm thankful, thankful, thankful.
 
For desire, for desire of beauty,
I'm thankful for ugliness,
I'm thankful that
love and rancor will counter,
for sweetness, for sweetness of sleep,
I'm thankful for weariness,
I'm thankful for fire catching
and for fizz of weir,
I'm thankful, thankful, thankful.
 
I'm thankful, thankful for thirst,
that exposes the weakness,
I'm thankful, thankful for anguish,
that perfects works,
for that, for that I love,
though fear clutched my heart,
Lamb, thank you,
you didn't die in vain,
thank you, thank you, thank you...
 

Lullaby

Sleep, son, sleep. Close your eyes, close two blue flowers bitterly,
once they'll be gray like tin, breath'll smell of tobacco and kiss'll be bitterly.
[: at the turn of the century in your armful will soft your first or fifth,
before anyone could see, wounds'll heal and you will be like your dad :]
 
Sleep, son, sleep. Close your eyes, mummy will wash diapers,
you'll grow up on Sunar, then sit at the bar with kinda different glass.
[: and when bad times arrive, they'll draft and give you a gun instead of chisel,
booze instead of hugs will teach you to back and you will be like your dad :]
 
Sleep, son, sleep. Need ate whole pantry and poverty inhabits cellar,
to crib on the corner your mummy will drop you when morning replaces the night,
[: delivery note to lie they'll give you to play and a find will be loss,
compromise of life, you'll be left with loneliness, and you will be like you dad :]
 

Strange Duke

Strange Duke rode across the land and cornflowers faded,
when from fingers he forged bars and from hands railings,
[: he knit wires from hair, he had casemates made of palms,
and clothes from brocades, evil words instead of arms:]
 
Wherever he stood only the saffrons and henbanes sprout,
when no tears were left then the gas helped,
[: he drove winds away with chaffs and Christ screamed from cross,
when wounds he healed with salt, that Strange Duke :]
 
He was both master and servant and wad of verdicts
he tied with black ribbon which he dipped into the Channel,
[: and deaf song weakened when raven marked path,
when for glory of devil he proclaimed in the manifesto :]
 
Instead of poems he had files and prose as plague,
and brown and black rats, and diphosgene and chlorine,
[: he had hat made of bird-of-paradise and with dignity of snob,
he came up with fables in which ire prevails :]
 
He had baton instead of rights and estates for guards,
where murderers roared for the red cockade,
[: he berated people as betrayers, he wrote slogans on archways,
in which, by wish of rulers, the lie and vice marry:]
 
Further Duke carries wreath through that horrified land,
he has the fear as ally, he goes with his head down,
[: and he doesn't realise that children from that cold land,
will plainly and without the will behead him once :]
 

In the name of humanity (Organs in Oliwie)

Organs in Oliwie lost all its sound,
it's fog and silence and you don't see the shore,
and instead of a brain which would lead the hand,
only the pistols write on grey walls -
in the name of humanity!
 
Be grateful to that hand which throws you the leftovers,
when there's nothing to eat and it's the Christmas time,
be mute as a fish which the table lacks,
before the belt conveyor crushes your spine -
in the name of humanity!
 
In stable, in hay they'll expel you from a flat,
so day by day you could be closer to the Christ,
and they'll add to price a word 'people's',
and they'll add to price a plaster bust,
even the words you hear and the air that you breath,
your joy and tears and hunger.
 
From organs in Oliwie the silence watches,
shepherds had already greeted Jesus,
your stomach sings the carols of hunger,
and in refrain the SMGs will play -
in the name of humanity!
in the name of humanity
in the name of humanity
 

So we've got you over here

So we've got you over here, brothers of Cain's blood,
messengers of the night, which stabs backs with a dagger,
so we've got you over here, brothers, grandchildren of Stalin,
though not like yesterday, today it's without the lilacs,
though thanks for an iron doves of peace,
and thanks for the kisses with taste of bitter almonds,
in the idyllic land they've killed the faith,
on the road the red arrows as a memorial of fallen.
 
To you our gratitude and warms hugs,
for provocation and shooting at the children,
and let our homes be your homes,
the witnesses are the graveyards smelling of lead,
I know, it'd be mistake to spit on the memorials,
to us the hope remains, we were and we will be!
Thank you very much, brothers-occupators!
Thank you so much, we will never forget!
We will never forget!
 

Denial of Peter

The ground is soaked in blood and silent are trees in Nazareth,
always for last and for first, like in unreal cabaret,
we are too weak in faith, even though Christ is dragged to the cross,
and if they kill the shepherd, split will be herd,
 
La la la la la
La la la la la la
La la la la la
La la la la la la
 
crosses tower the moon and thorns welcome Messiah,
at the garden nightingales are singing, it's a night that awaits Judas,
the moon shimmers as nacre and though we pledge loyalty,
now, for second and for third, we Christ and ourselves deny,
 
we deny for first - hands still shiver
we deny for second - praising the despair
for third we deny just because - of habit,
and tears we swallow, weeping instead of cries,
 
The ground is soaked in blood, rooster crows in Galilee.
always again and always for first, with Peter we beg for hope,
we are too weak in faith and Holy truth is dragged to the cross,
and if they kill the shepherd, split will be herd,
 
La la la la la
La la la la la la
La la la la la
La la la la la la
 

Passage revolt

We wear daisies out of fashion, thereby we rob herds,
and ox* - once a name of oblation, is now title of a friend,
on both feet flip-flops and head as amenity,
on the lapel a pin as dog tag - sign of belonging to crowd,
 
even our generation has its prominents,
the programe is resignation and slapping an argument,
applause is for silencing and whistle for praising,
and instead of persuasion just beer drinking - of sorrow,
 
under butt the page of Dikobraz**, we invoke Golden calf,
we sit in the corners under the paintings, awaiting the Savior,
we stare zealously at the copper coins, we - Gottwald's grandchildren,
and we curse the townsfolk - creators of revolution
 
even our generation has its penitents,
and honorable cops and humble officials,
and beings without conscience and spineless reptiles,
and life in ignorance and love to distrust,
 
we are not what we used to be: we know how to bend a back***,
we know how to compromise and how to betray a friend,
and grateful to today's reality we kiss stranger's hands,
and once we will crumble down, from this sad revolution,
 
even our generation has its old-timers****,
and its own emigration and own martyrs,
and with broken mouth, today we stayed voiceless,
no,... we re not on our knees,
we dig dirt with our trap (mouth)*****
 

The King and the Fool

A King rode to war,
to a place far away
and along with his legions1,
he brought a Fool on a mule.
And under the visor that he wore,
from his facial expression,
you would not notice a liar,
who hid away his fear.
 
People quietly whispered at the horror,
Inter arma silent Musae2.
Instead of a bell, his armour clinked,
a King rode to war,
to a far distant region,
and along with his legions1,
he brought a Fool on a mule.
 
A King rode to war,
and he he barely left,
he burned every village,
and conquered every city.
The Fool's eyes were filled with rage,
as he looked at the arsonists,
as they washed their hands with steam,
removing the dust and the blood.
People quietly whispered at the horror,
Inter arma silent Musae2,
instead of a lute, he held a sword in his hands.
 
A King rode to war,
and he he barely left,
he burned every village,
and conquered every city.
A King rode to war,
with that murderous mob.
The Fool trembled in horror,
and thought out vengeance.
 
When the evening was calm,
he deceived the soldiers,
and with no arms,
he roused the masses.
 
Everywhere, he cried out to the horror,
in war, the Muses keep their silence,
but men do never remain silent.
A King rode to war,
with that murderous mob.
The Fool trembled in horror,
and thought out vengeance.
 
A King rode to war,
and in the gentle, red sky,
he beheld the heads of the miserable,
as they were lead by the fool.
And when the West set into flames,
the streams darkened.
the Fool never had an idea,
to how the king died,
 
People quietly whispered at the horror,
Inter arma silent Musae2.
From the fear the King got a stroke.
The Fool softly laughed,
and the land lived on,
and there was no King.
The fool played on his lute.
The fool played on his lute.
 

• 1. a. b. Literally: and along with him.
• 2. a. b. c. Latin, meaning: In times of war, the law falls silent.

Salome

Versions: #1#2
Gentle and treacherous, cruel and helpless,
Like a flame and red like the dawn, devil and lamb,
sugar and salt.
To the scent of cloves, to the rhythm of shoes,
the Emperor was thinking today, and promised:
half of the kingdom for a dance[ft]The lines are switched here so that the grammar is correct.[/ft].
 
Salome, the night is at its end.
Salome, you look like a plant vine,
similar to a guitar for your ruler:
Salome, is dancing,
 
Salome, the Baptist has already been beheaded.
Salome, smile with cheerfulness.
You are whirling in a vortex, mouth like a vampire,
glowing with blood, Salome, la la la.
 
The night is already shorter, the Emperor is smiling,
I can live peacefully, everything can be used,
for a good state.
Maybe, he thought of an ancient saying:
'When history is formed, it doesn't weep
for heads in bowls.[ft]Order switched again.[/ft]'
 
Salome, don't dance, if you don't want to.
Salome, the guests have already left.
Only a swarm of mosquitoes drink up the drops
of wine from the cups.[ft]Order switched again.[/ft]
 
Salome, you have turned a little pale.
Salome, you have been sitting in the corner.
Your eyelids are gray, nobody is watching:
Salome, are you crying? La la la.
 

Pensioner

The trousers are frayed on the inside,
the wrists tremble and the hands are frayed,
with those, breadcrumbs were collected from the counter of the race,
let's call him, perhaps, a pensioner.
 
The winter overcoat is frayed until shiny,
on a fast train, waiting for the remains of the bottle,
he shyly gathers cigarette butts from the pavements
and them puts them in a bag, a pensioner.
 
Ref: On Sundays he sits on a bench in the garden,
an old butt supports his worried head,
the sun peeks out, he laments his breathing,
and no-one can deny him the right to be fatigued.
 
On his old neck there is a Káro1 and there is anxiety in his voice,
when he begs for a cigar, his waist creaks,
instead of thanking, he lowers his eyes, and there's no need for a plaintiff,
when I see these human wrecks, I tremble with fear before these ghosts,
because one day, I will also be one of these, a pensioner.
 

• 1. A kind of diamond-checkered shawl, native to Eastern Europe