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Visiting places of disappearance

Vienna, the Day of Anschluss, Easter, March 2008

Visiting places of disappearance

makes you feel emptied

of the invisible presence

and of possible goodbyes

that could echo

that could resound

that would not fall

into the well of silence

 

visiting places of goneness

grabs you by the throat

and squeezes the air

out of your lungs

your breath solidifies

into an icy surface

under which you can see

frozen faces

of the dead

 

 

 

visiting places of the carnival

is no less demanding

you consume

large quantities of do-not donuts 

then you train to be a clown

to join a crowd of like-minded jesters

who juggle the coloured Easter eggs

with such a skill

that they never fall

never break

never live

The song of Golden Praha

“Co se stalo se Zlatou Prahou

Prý je pořád tady

Ta celá nádhera

Ty všechny uličky, věžičky

A Karlův Most”

 

What happened to Zlata Praha?

The guide says it is still there

with all its unsurpassed medieval beauty

with all these towers, little streets

and the figures on the Karlûv Bridge.

 

Why can't I see it?

I thought I held the rights

and that Praha in all its glory

and its little cosy charm

belonged to me

an spite of the long years

of separation...

 

An unending cavalcade of grey tourists is passing

along the figures of kings and saints

who extend their hands

for alms and tips

they don't get many

everyone is busy

taking photos of themselves.

Gold is produced though

in hundreds of pizza restaurants

and in the little shops selling the Chinese junk

and the Russian army caps.

Renaissance of unmitigated greed

produces a stream of coins and notes

Flowing into underground vaults

of the foreign banks.

Tourist with their eyes glowing

rush me by, singing hallelujah

and I am left on a cobbled, slippery pavement

holding a souvenir of a headless puppet.

The river is brown and cold

it is snowing

the golden carp

must have died.

But I throw a crown

into the murky water

perhaps the sun will shine again

over the domes and roofs of Golden Praha

of my dreams

and the golden carp

will sing The Ode of Joy:

“Zlatá Praha samosřejmě

Patří ke mně” -

Golden Praha

that I can see

belongs to me.

Venice, Covid

the empty chambers of my heart 

are filled with confetti

when blood turns into paper

the heart breaks into tiny bits

 

in the suspension of silence

you can hear the eerie rustling

those are masks of the Venetian carnival

now wrapped in crepe

 

they get soaked in sorrow

and flow with the swill to the canals

which cannot contain the painful flow 

and they burst

the enraged spill

carries the coffins out to the sea

The lyrebird

the lyrebird has fallen down

with flapping wings, from starry sky

how could she fly 

at all

 

no cry, no tears shed, no way

down to the earth

now

 

the crowd had come before

to watch the rise, to see the fall

to clap and cheer

to mock

to have their way

 

what they do now

they clap and cheer, they mock

or fall apart

far down

much farther than they ever dreamt

their fall

her fall

 

where is she now

back there, on stage

out of the hole

shakes off the ashes, makes sure

sings out her song

aloud

 

whose song it is 

whose song it was

she seems to know

so well

as we all do

we know for sure

we always did

how else

I know for sure

it must be mine

how else

it sounds so well

how bright it shines

no doubt at all

 

but now fullstop

the ladybird has come along

and said in fact

we do not know

perhaps at all

 

too many dots, too many lines

I've told you that

so many times

but you forget

 

and now

you can go home, sweet prince,

go home

Stranger quartet

Prelude

 

Stranger forgive me

I would like to shake your hand

but my fists are clenched

I could open my arms and embrace you

but then I would reveal

that I've got nothing in my right hand

not even a pocketknife 

and in the left

I hold a tiny heart that cannot speak.

 

 

Leadership ambitions

 

I want to rule

to tell people what to do

to realise my great projects

and have people say

Gosh, how lucky we are to have a leader like that!

The trouble is —

I can count only on one vote

the rest of the population

would love to see my head roll.

The explosive

I better keep you at arms length

how would I know what you keep

close to your chest

it can be a scorpion

or an explosives' belt.

I could take you to my bosom

but if the love erupts 

who's gonna hold my hand

lest I would blow up.

 

Judith

When I want to take you

you make me a bed of feathers —

come stranger, speak softly

the demons sleep

We drink from the same cup

what I don't know

is my poison and your strength

 

When the dream is cut to pieces

with shards of the broken mirror

there is no one to wake up

to the steely embrace of dawn.

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