SNEZHANA IVANOVA

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LONELINESS

How many lives
In the dry eyes of the old woman
Behind the worm-eaten window-frame
A dove broke the window-pane
And settled there

I will chase you away dove
I will chase you away

Whispers the old woman
The wood-worm crunching its way
The rats swelling up with contentedness
The milk burning black over the mouth
Of the gap-toothed fire

I will wrench you away from me demon
I will wrench you away

The old woman calling down curses
A witch wringing her fingers
Rolling her dry eyes
Amid the graves of her children

Dust falls down like snow
Dust grows on the roof

The dove mother hurries along
To plant a flower

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THE CLOCK

Tick-tack tick-tack
Death creeps round the clock
Crawls up tick-tack
God made Time
God made Death
But this death is made up, not real
Everything all around denies it
Tick-tack tick-tack
Torrents of fog stream down the window pane
The merciless swords of despair
Lacerate vacuum
Its sticky membrane tick-tack tick tack
The widow never stops scolding the clock
Because of her eyes more and more vacant
Because of her hands lying weak in her lap
Tick-tack tick-tack Death hurries
Minutes become shorter the sand is moving to the other
Side of the sun tick-tack tick-tack
Someone must stop that clock
Someone must stop Death
Who

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FROM A LONG WAY

Depths are not thieves
You cannot blame them

Do not coax the black sands
At the bottom where your son is roaming
Suddenly facing his manhood
Do not coax

The world has only one beginning
Love: from end to end

Do not harbor dreams in a shell
If you do not know how to crack it
Do not harbor

The wind has built a house for you
But can you remember where you fell asleep

Do not be afraid to write out the name
Of your disowned father

Do not be afraid

Before Man could bury slavery
People bemoaned freedom

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GROWING TO MANHOOD

…When the blacksmith landed his sledge-hammer
And turned from a god into a slayer
The boy realized he had become a man

Do not let his flesh grow old
Oh God
Do not let his soul grow wise
The mother is crying
And her cry rips up the airy phallus

Don't give him eyes
Bigger than mine
Nor a tongue which is sharper
Says the serpent
And the man lengthens his body
Into the shape of a spindle

To overcome passion
To overpower death

When it grew dark the man made his bed
Saw it was empty
And he turned into an old man
Mourning over his mother

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SACRIFICE

Before I grew up
The knife grew fur
In the dreams of the eunuchs
And there was the smell of a man

Grandpa felled the big quince-tree
Over the May-lily and crushed it
And my tears sprouted tendrils
Right down to my nostrils
Right down to my gums

There was the smell of a man

How should I know
How to draw the knife
Bareheaded and bare-chested
How should I know that blood will swell
In the smoke of dry twigs
And basil

There comes the smell of a man

How should I know

What's that cold on St George's Day