ON THE TRAIN TO CASCAIS

on the train to Cascais

you saw the most beautiful girl.

 

with olive skin

and round breasts

(just like Ornella Muti’s)

wearing a T-shirt

by Dolce & Gabbana,

poised like St. Theresa of Avila

contemplating that spear

about to pierce her chest

etc.

 

she must have been put off

by the Wittgenstein’s biography

in your hands, for she suddenly

sprung up and exited

in Estoril,

as you continued to Cascais

with the sad realisation

that you’d just missed

the woman of your life

(or somebody else’s):

 

an Atlantean as beautiful

as the body of her slippery language,

juicy and rustling

like the samba

you heard that summer

on the lake of Bohinj

when you were eighteen.

 

so, what choice did you have,

but to continue reading that damn book

bitter in the knowledge

that the limits of your language

are indeed the limits of your world

that is the case;

much like this one

whereof you wouldn’t want to be silent;

not even in death.

Translated by: Damir Šodan and Majda Bakočević

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

  • Address: P.O. Box 109
  • Str. Brakja Miladinovci nr.5
  • 6330 Struga
  • Republic of North Macedonia
  • Phone: ++389 46 786 270
  • Fax: ++389 46 786 280
  • Email: struga@svp.org.mk
Copyright 2020 | All Rights Reserved | Струшки вечери на поезијата
©