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  Jakub Zahradník





Speckled sun
shining into my soul
in the Tavern Restaurant
in Cinema Sodom
This could be the most beautiful moment ever
or perhaps
under my shut eyelids
the end of the world
of orange nature
in old cars'
rear-view mirrors



Right now at this very moment
the Anamnes has exploded
The moistness of leaves turned into vapour by the heat
of my flooded head
and palms of hands sliding down your body
like that of a bole
further down the unseeable
than the centre of holes
All the rest is myth
bear with me for this moment!


You look through stones
with worm holes
June eats you whole
Nothing is
and the covered-over
has little to erode


The sun lends us
its parade conducted to an exquisite beat
undressing copper not unlike foam
and we radiate into the night
under the watchful eye of fully-loaded sunflowers
in the wet grounds
in the rock's sandy face


A sun-warmed stone lying by the sea
like a girl
Or could a roe's skin be firmer
through the wrinkled eye of a bullet
Or foot cut open
on a sweating desert leaf
can burn like the summer's end?


A rhododendron looking at me
I am to grow all the way down to a liana
why drink in the rain
the bush is broken in two
looking like stone
The swimmer-me can hope to find his
salty bay
in which the cross is set on a frame
where schooners weep
and the landslide veils noon as early as the morning


The Stele of Silence


You were my pearl
in the valley of tears
produced from the Atlantis of the pond
with a broken dike
You – redeemed
by the spine of the Vítek brook
with the eyes of wells innocent in their treachery
seductive in your ancient beauty
the last to come in through the night
before oblivion
the mysterious order of the stars
You – – –

station number one

In the former palace of the scrolls
consecrated to Sophia
today's games parlour – just as must be
He sits, horny
not his old self today
risk-taker more so
than the ones losing their dignity here
Enter She:
in a form not forbidding looks
surrounded by amorous flashes
she is to herself the crowd of photographers at Cannes
He mistakes it for a come-on
and takes her home to listen to Janáček
During which she almost falls out the window
where she sits smoking - somnambulistic
tearing the house down with her laughs for grabs
his head confused by the following connection:
is he not himself that Mr. Brouček
with his excursions?

station number two

Mad is the most beautiful
Seifert wrote and knew what he was saying
I mean he got the Nobel Prize for it!
They meet again
in the rain she is the shoeless witch
they've known each other for centuries and got used to it
Another time above the town of Pray
carving with their knife into the sandy stone
uncovering a piece of trickling corium
a place of self-entrusting sacrifice
He carries her home sleeping
in memory of darkness
pale as a candle
she's as tiny as the universe
He then lies at her feet

station number three

In an eroded day
they take the train to Srbsko
where water has torn down a bridge
Coda equals the last will
The palisades of beaver dams turn them back
to pagan times
as they jump across the shouting boulder heads
The forest exposes its belly to autumn
the mood of beeches intertwines with needles
as they wade through the leaves
up to a child's waste
They arrive at a place thrice sacred
where everything seems to scream Incest!
Running down from rocks set firm against the mud
He She It
trinity almost holy
in that landscape filled with quarries
of the heart
which cannot be even thought to the end!


There by the western wall of the Radshin farmstead
I rode downhill on the sledge as a child
watching the men struggling to pull up
that eerie winter load
The goldenrods meanwhile waited for you
herdswoman with her firing mouth askew
springing forth as a fresh bud of spring
You make me return to the broken link
Seeing I'm mad or so I think
I thought I might mend that old powder warehouse
and live in it sitting on the last barrel of powder
Meanwhile the stealing forest
has erased the positions of rocks
the silent sign
of when we are born again
On that same night we desert the orphaned flax-beating house
hung on the coach's wheel
for our lives
as out there
in the darkness behind the window
there lies the truth of permanence

station number four

Soon there was not a part of Prague five left
where he wouldn't have stroked her leg
– the base camp was set up in the Vera Pub
There is no phone booth left
which couldn't have hosted their one and only peep-show
for the night's frightened audience
– if it's something else you want then go get an aubergine from the Nicholas of Heslov Restaurant!
There is no cash machine left anywhere
that could still be stripped of money –
oh life in debt
how beauteous
and what images you bring oh oxygen debt
and what returns to the transfer sites of homes and what
nights spent all in wait for a text message!
And how friendly you look
oh train-station fast food ominously named Oasis
with her turning on the high heel of her stubbornness...

station number five

Oh indomitable Christianity
you cross-shaped lever set against the world
He – walking again through the Průhony alley after thirty years
taking the cattle-road to the baptismal font of Klejnoty
Every once in a while with his friend fluttering behind at an understanding's distance
they step over the frozen trickle of a brook
To search for childhood's mind is to search in vain
as presently it too is absent-minded
Meanwhile She releases like a wound up toy
in two bands
testifying to belly-dancing with an undeserved lap
Oh longed-for desolation of the Killer Lake
the silent moors
orchard of picturesque pines
fallen-tree gate
to the kingdom of moss stones
meadow frozen over like a mirror
whose shine prevents Him from finding the Pearl
And again
the familiar sacrificial bowls waiting for fresh blood
phantom pillar in the woods
The stele of silence

station number six

Over the Smíchov Gardens Sacré-coeur
a day sets lighting up
an intricate street-lamp net
the world is so created – elated in its duty
that the air's pulp rejoices
and the spirit tingles like a pet –
beauty! beauty!
She however came to part
which they couldn't face to face
they started stroking
till all the nearby lovers suffered strokes
And while within memory's distance the Philip and Jacob church at Zlíchov
bids welcome late pilgrims from the south
the river folk stumble sailor-like
on jagged white-red limestone
and local rummy

the ship yard's swing-door lolls out a thin stew
at a lifeguard with non-swimmer herring on his rod
She forbids herself
„The next time I won't come“
setting up false ports before his anchor
„it's the reptile living in the Blue Star Rock
the grey lizard!“


Dusk sets at Radshin
through the point of intersection of a girl's breasts
disclosing the place and time of landing
all you have to do is understand
I'll show you the secret of the hanging meadow at Košíře
the mystery of the musical baptismal font with watering of horses prohibited
the dream of forest chambers at Slavonice
Inhaling I look back –
you're gone
I'm struck by the anxiety of a lost self
it's more like going mad
I mean I know I'm not to usurp the pearl!

With the heart all mine still
caught in a mill
I walk towards the dawn – – –


[jkb 2003]


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