Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Edvard Kocbek

PRIMEVAL MOTHER

Where are you, oblivion? Where are you, transient winds?
Everything passes but my sad punishment,
look at me revered lo the highest mountain,
] am the oldest and closest to the beginning.

I no longer know to whom I call, who I beseech,
I am crazed by horror, singing from sorrow;
shouting and weeping blend into a melody
I\'ve swung the angst of man since times immemorial.

I rock him with ineffable movements,
precipices amass in my blindness,
clear waterfalls storm through my deafness —
my story is older than darkness.

In my long ritual toga
I am the world\'s oldest sorrow,
torn apart by pain on the mountaintop
I cradle lost man in my arms.

Najstarejša mati

Najstarejša mati

Kje si pozaba? Kje ste vetrovi minljivi?
Vse mineva razen moje zalostne kazni,
glejte me povišano na visoko goro,
najstarejša sem in najblizja zacetku.

Ne vem vec, koga klicem in rotim,
blazna sem od groze, pojem od zalosti,
vrisk in jok se spajata v melodijo,
tisocletja ze niham clovekovo muko.

Zibljem ga z neizrekljivimi gibi,
prepadi se grmadijo v moji slepoti,
cisti slapovi grmijo skozi tvojo gluhoto.
moja zgodba je starejša od te teme.

Glejte me v dolgi obredni togi,
najstarejša zalost tega sveta sem,
na vrhu gore razparana od tuge
zibljem v narocju izgubljenega cloveka.
Close

PRIMEVAL MOTHER

Where are you, oblivion? Where are you, transient winds?
Everything passes but my sad punishment,
look at me revered lo the highest mountain,
] am the oldest and closest to the beginning.

I no longer know to whom I call, who I beseech,
I am crazed by horror, singing from sorrow;
shouting and weeping blend into a melody
I\'ve swung the angst of man since times immemorial.

I rock him with ineffable movements,
precipices amass in my blindness,
clear waterfalls storm through my deafness —
my story is older than darkness.

In my long ritual toga
I am the world\'s oldest sorrow,
torn apart by pain on the mountaintop
I cradle lost man in my arms.

PRIMEVAL MOTHER

Where are you, oblivion? Where are you, transient winds?
Everything passes but my sad punishment,
look at me revered lo the highest mountain,
] am the oldest and closest to the beginning.

I no longer know to whom I call, who I beseech,
I am crazed by horror, singing from sorrow;
shouting and weeping blend into a melody
I\'ve swung the angst of man since times immemorial.

I rock him with ineffable movements,
precipices amass in my blindness,
clear waterfalls storm through my deafness —
my story is older than darkness.

In my long ritual toga
I am the world\'s oldest sorrow,
torn apart by pain on the mountaintop
I cradle lost man in my arms.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère