Zbornik Mednarodnega literarnega srečanja Vilenica 2003 - Ljudmila

Bela obleka
Kako je biti ta bleda koprena
na obešalniku, ta viharni oblak, mirujoè
v omari? Koprnimo po dotiku, koprni
po dotiku, dotikamo se ga kot koprnenja?
prekritega z biseri, je ekcem
iz cekinov, raskav, razbrazdan, razklan,
grbast od našitkov, zaledenelo okno,
na katero hrepenimo položiti svoj jezik,
vaza, ki podpira dolgopecljati
šopek ženskega telesa.
Ali se mu natanèno prilega, kot oklep.
Gumbi jo kot zakovice spredaj zatiskajo.
Kadar smo v njej, smo mehanizem,
rušilec, ki reže valove mesta.
Prav zdaj je sama, zaklenjena
v omari; medtem ko smo zaposlene,
vznemirjene od lastne nièevosti, pada
v pojemajoèem slapu same sebe,
cesta brez popotnika, potopljena
v meseèino, ponavljajoèa svoje vrstice.
158
The White Dress
What does it feel like to be this shroud
on a hanger, this storm cloud hanging
in the closet? We itch to feel it, it itches
to be felt, it feels like an itch?
encrusted with beading, it`s an eczema
of sequins, rough, gullied, riven,
puckered with stitchery, a frosted window
against which we long to put our tongues,
a vase for holding the long-stemmed
bouquet of a woman`s body
Or it`s armor and it fits like a glove.
The buttons run like rivets down the front.
When we`re in it we`re machinery,
a cutter nosing the ocean of a town.
Right now it`s lonely locked up
in the closet; while we`re busy
fussing at our vanity, it hangs there
in the drooping waterfall of itself,
a road with no one on it, bathed
in moonlight, rehearsing its lines.
159