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Válek, Miroslav: Zima

Portre of Válek, Miroslav

Zima (Slovak)

V zime sú veci čistejšie a belšie. Je sneh
a belasosti všade, až to bolí.
Len ona češe prúdy svojej smoly.
Víchor ako britva, stromy z kože zdiera,
kdesi vo mne zaskučalo zviera.
Prichádza noc,
objektív luny otočí a poutiera
a do rána ju z každej strany sníma.
A to je už tmavomodrá zima.

Moja zima je biela. Vetry náhodné
sotva šteknú spod brán.
Moja zima je dobrá.
Zaho
ďme
starý klobúk melanchólie
a bežme prostovlasí do strmého brehu.
Moja zima je nežnos
ť,
iskrenie hviezd
a číry jagot snehu.

Ešte sú iné zimy, v ktorých spomeniem
ružovú zimu tvojho tela.
Nadýchal som sa zimy ružovej,
omrzela ma zima biela.
Zo všetkých zím jak ponorka som ustal.

Hlt vzduchu do p
ľúc, ako nôž!
Chcem poču
ť pukať kĺby kremeňa,
chcem drsný vlas čiernej zimy
omota
ť si okolo prsta.
Nech na sneh kvapká
krv obyčajná,
ľudská,
červená.


Winter (English)

In winter everything’s cleaner and whiter. There’s snow
and whiteness everywhere, till it hurts.
Winter alone combs the streams of its pitch.
Storm flays the trees like a razor-blade,
somewhere in me a wild beast howls.
Then comes the night,
turning and wiping the moon’s lens,
and by the morning it has snapped it from all sides.
But this is now a dark-blue winter.

My winter is white. Occasional winds
hardly bark from under the doors.
My winter is good.
Let’s throw away
the old hat of melancholy
and run bareheaded down to the steep bank.
My winter is tenderness,
the winking of stars
and the sheer sparkle of snow.

There are still other winters. One that I remember:
the rosy winter of your body.
And as I filled my lungs with that rosy winter
the old white winter began to bore me.
I travelled through my winters like a submarine.
A gasp of air into my lungs, sharp as a knife!
I want to hear the crack of quartzite joints,
I want the coarse hair of a black winter
winding around my finger.
Let ordinary, human blood,
red blood,
drip on the snow.



minimap