GOTHIC WINDOWS Poem by Dane Zajc

Don't talk to me.
Keep your forked tongue still.

Don't look at me.
I don't like your eyes.
Different eyes look at me.
Serene like shattered gothic windows.

The sun shot at them.
The arrogant sun.
It shot through them
with thousands arrows.

The stars pierced them
in long mute nights
with slender daggers.
The sharp bright tips danced
before the big motionless eyes.
The moon's face opened up:
like a lit cave
her mouth gaping
full of fat rocks of guffaw.

Holy women were dying
with long transparent faces.
The shot wings of white angels
drooped.

The narrow wakeful world's eyes closed.
The bright cold death
on the tips of the stars' rays.
The drunken moon's mockery
tumbled in the void.

Don't look at me.
Different eyes stare at me.
Narrow. Empty. Dead.
Sad.

2



At night the rubies begin to glow
on your breasts, Magdalena.
Two red rubies under a grey veil.
In the dark of the cathedral.
In the white smoke of snuffed candles.
Throw off your veil.

Throw it off: the dry rustle of sin
in the scent of prayers.
With a dry smack stars will fall
from your head.
In a clear jet the stars will pour
from your eyes into my open mouth.
The rubies of your body
will drop into my lap.
The moon will lick your hips
with a red tongue of passion.

Throw off your veil, Magdalena.
Tomorrow you will stand in the drizzling
light of the sun
naked. Humiliated.
Mine.

3


White arms in the sky.
White legs on a rock.
White holy women in tall windows.
Holy women in red lights.
A body wrapped in a red veil.

I am a marble angel.
An angel without faith.
White legs.
White arms.
A body wrapped in grey canvas.
The angel that cherishes the holy women.

The holy women undress at the windows.
The sun sees through their backs.
The yellow. The red.
The holy women undress slowly.
Their bodies evaporate in smoke.
Only their arms remain.
Only their legs remain.
A sign in the blue sky.
Solitude on the white rock.
A black cross desintegrating
in the ancient eyes of the cathedral.