VIA LASCIVA
1.
I see in my left palm, out of habit
it is the wall from which I'm thrown back.
P-s-s-s-s-t quiet psyche. Reflection, mirror
- worn out words.
I am reflected, this means I return
someone creates a permanent echo
Venus' triple belt.
Reality is a payback
the rattle of meanings and lines:
in the beginning was the line
the cypher of the world.
2.
I compare my left palm and my right.
On one of them the heart has returned
on the other it tries to sort out
night from day.
I cannot lie.
My left palm hunts the urges
those many headed and loquacious lusts
the right one is useful, it promotes clever
discord between life and fate.
All crafts have not died out
in this land full of master craftsmen:
logos, eros, poesis.
3.
My palms get everywhere before I do.
The disparity, I tell myself: forget it.
Volcano. Karma. Salt.
The one who feeds you does not quench your thirst.
Don't point at the city
that sired you. Do not disrupt
the perfection of sin.
You will not be spared the plenitude
of signs and emotions
you will never love less:
reasons multiply like insects.
4.
Distant palms: mind and sense
being and battle.
Two for every man
for every face.
It is a perfect cross-section
it is a measure for cross and love
the laws of light
a way out of this
world.
5.
At dusk the fingers are slightly raised
like blood under a full moon
they dance in unison with darkness
with the skill of a shy aspen
like eye, nerve, like the sound-wave
I hold patiently
on the shores of Mars with its red marks.
Do colours change their symbolism?
Objects their colour?
People their objects?
The shadows of the nymphs
turn amorous as nightmares
threshing around
fate-speech
where lascivious deeds
become tragically serene.
Around me shadows
around me nightmares
speech, prophets.
My vices are my own.
Translated by Ilija Casule and Thomas Shapcott
