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50 years
at the cutting edge
of poetry publishing

Meta Kušar, from Ljubljana

'With what force...'

With what force he leapt into the stone garden.
Knocked over the atlas. Strewed weeds everywhere.
Driven by furious gods.
He knew,
he knew about the galaxies,
about the galaxies bonfiring all heritage
His flower beds gave him sustenance and the fire
and the fire nourished him.
Clay softened the blows,
the blows of history,
history which gave out happiness,
kept floods at bay,
floods which would engulf beds of tall flowers.
If flowers walk under a waterfall, they break.
How much can one bear!
Heavenliness invades time and again.
and that month, polished
and broken.