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SEVEN URBAN TONGUES
Maja Vidmar
Photo: Tihomir Pinter
Maja Vidmar (1961) was born in Nova Gorica, Slovenia and currently lives in Ljubljana, working as a freelancer. She has published three collections of poetry: Razdalje telesa (Distances of the Body, 1984), Nacin vezave (Ways of Binding, 1988) and Ob vznozju (At the Base, 1998). A selection of her poetry was published in Austria (Liebhaftige Gedichte, 1999), and in Croatia (Akt, 1999).
Isaac
When Isaac sleeps
I cover his little wings,
watch him breathe
and smell him
as though he were mine.
When Isaac waves to me
I warn him across the street
and tremble
as though he were mine.
And because, touch wood,
I let him go,
he ends up every day
among beasts.
How can I say
as if I didn't care,
Isaac, come, let's climb
a mountain.
How can I seek
a chopping-block for him,
smooth, clean chopping-block.
How can I, with a knife
as if I didn't care,
with a naked, grey knife,
cut him off
alive.
Isaac, come, let's go.
The Handle
Some time ago,
probably while asleep,
I let go of the handle.
I didn't fall headlong
and wasn't amazed not to.
Only my hands are rigid
with the quiver of
the old cramp.
Together
In the dusk, who can tell
what we grasped at,
where we hang
inside the cross of limb-breaking pangs?
In the dusk,
in the cobwebs of tattered sheets,
together we may endure
above the precipitous fear.
Look, the sun unveils us!
Now I know: we hover.
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