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Ivan Jelinek

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Lyre

There, between horns of a ram,
     tension of voice
heightened by words. To what aim?
     The God’s embrace.

For the wounding of his mother,
      for mortal rents
in the flesh of his dragoness mother
     his love repents.

Himself here! golden wolf
that behind the flock paced
keeping the lambs safe,
my herdsman Lord! . . . Myself
wolf, by an arrow pierced
for their naked sake.

Into the nameless, the speechlessness,
prayer’s low sky, he brings
my hand by the steps of the strings.
Into a fire, self-fire,
I plunge, burn up in my fear
this self, this grief, this sheaflessness.

A dirge, wept word by word,
leaning on reeds of tones,
I lift, prophecy-tense,
to the repentant God.

And, through and through cleansed
by him, and my heart lanced,
I listen, I whisper near
his now listening ear.
Across the womb’s abyss
and through his pythoness
the thunder’s meaning is heard.

Stretched between strength of horns,
calling after a woman.
Stretched between strength of horns,
singing woman-famine.
Stretched between strength of horns,
stillness after the God.

[JG]

Translated by Jonathan Griffin

Page(s) 169-170

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