How to leave this house; / where each room leads to another, from one door to the next, / always only there and never back
Silently, the silent mold / sounds its tenuous / bell. A woman lies down / beside me, her head // a huge washed beetroot.
It is hard to define the art of bearing witness. All I know is that each time I experience these poems as a reader and translator, I travel along with Pavel to that time before my time in Bohemia – to Pavel and Veronika, his four year old daughter, as they play together in the snow – games that in any other context would be innocent, but in this context, chilling and horrifying.
This moment is only a delay: / tomatoes, / waiting blankly at the executioner’s block, / on the verge of exploding and sourly burning / the impression of morning, scorching the light, / burning the face. / Victorious tomatoes.
...in 4th grade I endured a field trip to Prachovské // skály and the Rwanda genocide. After / transferring to a language school the / Yugoslav Wars took place. When I / attended dancing lessons, they demolished // the World Trade Center, / attacked The Pentagon and compromised / global security....