Edvard Kocbek

O zgodovina, slepi nemir Slovenstva,
nenehno spopadanje dobrega in zlega,
padanje trušca v brezdanji prepad,
od jutra do vecera ena sama slovesna
zmeda, krik zmagovalcev in jok premagancev,
o zgodovina, urjenje pomneza in sladkost
pozabe, zastave v vetru, ropotanje bobnov
in topotanje konj, presenecenje mrtvih
straz, slepe miši in ovaduhi, tehnicna
odkritja in sanje o Babilonu, vrtiljak
slave, vmes pa kratki pocitki za novi
zaman, naskoki in umiki, grajenje s podiranjem,
plazenje v temi in tlenje pod
pepelom, zibelke in letala, tanki in
porocni venci, o zgodovina, kje so tvoje
ekstaze in manifesti, kje so tvoji zlati
venci in mramorni spomeniki, kje so tvoje
prerokbe in skrite ljubezni, kam vodijo
vaša pota tako imenovani voditelji
Slovenstva, kaj skriva vaš šepet
za crnimi ocali, kaj pomenita vaš molk
in vaša zgovornost, vaši nenehni obiski
in nikomur znani pogovori, romarji zaman
trkajo na druga vrata, umetniki zaman
vezejo oboke novih palac na sklepne
kamne, otroci zaman rišejo parole na
svoje zidove, zaman odkritja v megafonih
in zaman zrtvovanje zenskega rodu, zaman
parade in salve, salve v pozdrav, salve
v opozorilo, salve za kazen, prevec je
prepovedi, prevec ukazov, vse gre mimo
neba in mimo cloveka na zemlji.
...

History, the blind tumult of man,
the incessant conflict of good and evil.
the sinking of infernal noise into a bottomless pit,
one solemn confusion from morning till night,
the victory shouts of conquerors and the wailing of the defeated,
history, the drilling of memory and die sweetness
of oblivion, banners m die wind, clattering of drums,
stampede of horses, the astonishment of slaughtered
guards, pretenders and informers, technological
discoveries and dreams of Babylon, the marry-go-round
of fame with short rests in between for the new
onslaught, attacks and withdrawals, building and destruction.
crawling in the dark and smoldering under ashes
cradles and warplanes, tanks and bridal
wreaths, history, where are your ecstasies
and manifest", where are you golden
wreaths and marble monuments, where are your
prophecies and hidden loves, what are your intentions,
you, so called leaders
of mankind, what is hidden in your whispers behind dark glasses,
what is the meaning of your silence
of yow loquacity, of your conscious meetings
and secret talks, pilgrims knock in vain
on other doors, artists connect in vain arches
of palaces rising from new foundations, in vain children write
slogans on the walls, in vain are the discoveries in megaphones
in vain the sacrificing of womankind, in vain
parades and volleys, volleys as greetings, volleys
as warnings, volleys for punishment, too many
bans, too many orders, as if there were
no sky, as if there were no man.
...

Ne morem zaspati,
okoli mene nastaja
velika nesreca,
besede, ki sem jih kdaj koli
spregovoril in pošiljal v svet,
se nenadoma vracajo utrujene,
bolne, vznemirjene na smrt,
išcejo zavetja pred poginom,
prhutajo, krilijo, cvrcijo,
civkajo zateglo, obletavajo me,
bezijo pred obrabo in pozabo,
pred steklenim ocesom mrtveca,
pred laserjevim zarkom, ki zavraca
premislek in posrednika,
nastaja kuzno plapolanje izraza,
širi se hlastna naglica, besede
jecajo, zvijajo se v krcih,
ne vedo vec domov, kjer so si
sleherno noc spocile,
plahutajo nad menoj,
ki lezim v temi prazen in nem,
prepoznavam jih, udomacene, divje,
radostne In zalostne, sanjske,
preplašene, neznanske, izdajalske,
obupne, igrive, ljubezenske,
junaške, pobozne, vse materinske,
vse moje, ocetove, vse moje bistvo,
moji spomini. moje slutnje,
moje preroštvo, moje umiranje,
soba jih je polna,
sedajo na predmete, nikamor ne morejo,
bremenijo me, rotijo me, umirajo,
ihtijo in ponavljajo,
vsa dupla onesnazena,
vsa gnezda razdrta,
vsi razgledi zaprti,
vsa usta nema,
katastrofa se seli vame,
nikamor jih ne morem vrniti,
z nicemer potolaziti,
niti roke ne morem stegniti
in niti ust odpreti,
besede obup ne morem pobozati, nic ne
morem reci besedama tolazba, rešitev,
besedi igraca in milost me davita,
na oci mi sedajo tiste, na begu ustreljene,
clovek, mati, ljubezen, zvestoba,
na prsi mi legajo tiste nesrecne,
ki sem jih zanemarjal ali nikoli izgovoril,
ena med njimi pa se mi je ugnezdila
prav med drhtecimi ustnicami,
nikoli je se nisem videl v besednjaku.
...

Kadar koli se te tiho spomnim, pade z mene vse grešno in tuje, svet je
znova slovesen, nedolzen in sprošcen kakor po dobrem delu. Tedaj zapustim
zemljo in stopim z igrivimi stopali na širno morje. Zacnem se potepati
zunaj celine, kjer so prodali lepotico, in jo išcem na gugajocih se tleh.
Zacnem carati in prepevati in vabiti k sebi, igram se z globino navzgor
in navzdol, skacem od vala do vala, po obiskih, skozi prastaro svetovje
in mutasta tla, pojem si pesmi minevanja, poznam vse popevke in nacine
glasov, nacine ljubezni, nacine spominov in prerokb, na vetru gugam svoje
brazgotine, plezam po domišljiji, ves svet je moj, le pesem dekleta se mi izmika,
nekaj pomembnega se mi oddaljuje, poslušam padanje mescevih krajcev in
odmeve uraganov z Aljaske in šume gozdov v Kanadi, kako se krotko pasejo
in vendar je ne ulovim, ceprav jo slutim talec, potepuh, carovnik in ljubimec,
išcem dekletovo pesem skozi strašni nic, blodim kakor najtišja sapa skozi
orgelske pišcali, kakor trava skozi lisasto kravo ali kakor utez skozi škripec casa.
ves sem ze pokrit s koralami, zato nikomur ne povej, kje sem skrit in kje
te bom našel, ostani vedezna tema in blazeno prizadeta bolecina pod slapovi
ciste reke od mlina do mlina.
...

When my quiet thoughts reach for you, all that is sinful and alien
falls off me. The world again becomes solemn, innocent and
relaxed, like after a good deed. I leave the earth and take my
playful feet to the open sea. I start wandering away from the soil
where they sold the beautiful maiden, searching for her on the
rocking ground. I begin casting spells, singing, luring toward
myself, toying with depth jumping from wave to wave, on clouds,
through the ancient universe and mute grounds, singing the songs
of the transient, knowing all the melodies and voices, ways of
loving, ways of memories and prophecies, letting the wind rock my
scars, climbing over the fantasy, the whole world belongs to me,
only the song of the maiden eludes me, something essential is
fleeing, I listen to the falling of quarters of the moon and echoes of
hurricanes in Alaska, to the docile feeding of rustling Canadian
forests, but I cannot seize her though I sense her, I, hostage,
wanderer, wizard, and lover am seeking the maiden's song through
the terrifying nothingness, roaming like the softest breeze through
the organ's pipes, like grass through the spotty cow, or like weight
through the clutch of time, I am all covered with corals, maiden, let
nobody know where I am hiding and where I can find you, remain
the knowing darkness and the blessed pain under the waterfalls of
the river, in its clear flow from mill to mill.
...

Grahasti šotor
utrujenih romarjev,
varovalna barva
pametne zelve,
lišaj starih noci,
mah krotkih gozdov,
tišina metulja,
iz potrpezljivosti
sešteto trajanje —
in vendar ni sfinga
niti riba faronika
niti pravljicni zmaj,
to je utrujeni vol
z debelo glavo
naslonjeno na nebo,
dobrotljivo oko
se mu vcasih odpre
za dišece seno
ali omamno kadilo,
za petelina v vetru
in bronaste zvonove,
se vedno zdi
ob svetih jaslih,
ustvarjeno veze
z neustvarjenim.
nikjer ni razpoke,
srce, miruj,
ne utripaj preglasno,
da se sporocilo
tihega pergamenta
ne sesuje v prsih.
...

Kadar koli te pogledam, si neznanska,
in kadar se ozrem od blizu na tvoj vrh,
mi zadrhtijo usta in zašepecejo, o sveta
gora, o slovesna in skrivnostna gora, o
divja in materinska gora, o starodavni
in drzni zalet proti nebu, poln vzdihov
in castitljivih spominov, o speca in
vase sklonjena gora, polna tisocletnih
brazgotin, na videz si brezbrizna za
svojo zagonetnost, v resnici pa si
cudovito ubrana v svoji grozljivosti,
ceprav te ne morem nikoli videti od vseh
strani hkrati. V tišini dobro zaznavam
cistost tvojih spominov, kar naprej si
na poti domov, prej ali slej se ti bo
izpolnila zelja, zato si mirna kot vecnost,
cloveka prisiliš ob slehernem pogledu nate,
da podvomi o samem sebi in zacuti tvojo
pravo skrivnost: glej, najmogocnejša nosna
zenska si, ki ti prihaja sramezljiva ura,
zdaj zdaj se bo rahlo vzdignila in si
izbrala najlepšo zeleno obleko z belimi
in sinjimi rozami, na poti si v skrivni
kraj, vulkanski dih je v tebi ozivel, tvoje
dihanje vznemirja divje zivali in pricuje
o širjenju tvoje maternice, prsi se ti
napenjajo od bozanskega mleka in divjega
medu, v oblakih nad teboj se igrajo zgodbe
tvoje neunicljive mitologije, vse bi te rado
posnemalo, vse zacne slaviti tvoj porod, nic
drugega ne morem. pridruzujem se in ponavljam
besede slave: o neznanska gora, o sveta,
divja in slovesna gora. o moja draga gora,
o moja materinska in skrivnostna gora.
...

Whenever I look at you, you are magnificent
and when I gaze at your peak from nearby
my lips start to tremble, whispering, oh sacred
mountain, oh solemn and mysterious mountain, oh
untamed and maternal mountain, oil
the primal and bold flight toward the sky,
fill of sighs and venerable memories,
oh dreaming mountain, locked within yourself,
bearing myriads of scars. You seem indifferent
to your secrecy, but in truth your serenity
terrifies me, though l can never see you from all sides.
In silence I hear the purity of your memories,
sense your eternal walk toward home,
and knowing you'll reach it,
your calm assurance is ancient.
You force a man who looks upon you
To doubt himself, discovering your
true secret: you are the most magnificent pregnant woman,
shyly close to giving birth,
shifting imperceptibly in choosing the beautiful green dress
with white and blue flowers,
you are on your way to the secret place
the volcanic breath has awakened in you.
Your breathing agitates the wild animals and tells
of the widening of your womb,
your breasts are swelling from divine milk
and wild honey,
the clouds above you tell the story
of your indestructible mythology,
they all want to be part of the celebration
of you giving birth
and I, too, am in awe, am repeating
the words of glory: oh magnificent mountain,
oh wild mountain, oh sacred and solemn mountain,
the maternal, the mysterious.
...

Kraljicna španska
hodi med nami,
ne vidite je
in ne slišite je,
prerokba
ali spomin.
Hodi zravnana,
jutranje rasti,
na glavi nosi
vecerni vrc,
mirujte,
ne ganite se,
vrc je napolnjen
z roso naših oci,
nosi ga zravnana
v opotecnem casu,
ravnotezje
ji je presunljivo,
ne prestrašite je,
imejte usmiljenje z njo
in s samim seboj,
vsaka kaplja
naša odkupnina,
kraljicna hodi varno,
z neznim pogumom,
ze je v vratih,
ze odhaja
po stopnicah navzgor.
...

A Spanish princess
walks among us.
You do not see her,
do not hear her,
the prophecy
or the memory.
She walks erect,
of morning stature,
carrying a jug of evening
on her head.
Be still,
do not move,
the jug is full
of your eyes' dew.
She carries it erect
in these fickle times.
her balance
is astonishing,
do not frighten her,
have compassion for her,
for yourselves,
each drop
our ransom.
The princess walks safely
with tender courage.
She is through the door already,
starting up
up the stairs.
...

Tako, zdaj sva sama,
nikogar ni vec razen naju.
In vendar te ne bom pustil,
ne boš si spocil in se umiril,
zdaj šele se zacenja tvoje opravilo,
poslušal boš moj molk,
moj molk je zgovornejši,
v njem si obsojen na brezno resnice.
Zdaj prisluhni, kakor še nisi,
zver brez oci in jezika,
pošast zgolj z ušesi.
Moj duh govori brez glasu,
neslišno krici in tuli
od radosti, da si tu
in da me slišiš, Veliki Sum,
pohlepen na razodetja.
Moj molk odpira knjige
in nevarne rokopise,
besednjake in preroke,
stare resnice in zakone,
zgodbe o zvestobi in mukah.
ne moreš si pociti.
goltati moraš, strašno poziraš.
vedno bolj se dušiš,
uho ti je vedno bolj utrujeno,
in vendar me ne moreš prekiniti
in nic mi ne moreš odgovoriti,
prihaja moja ura,
sramotim te in te psujem,
skrivaš, slepar, strupar,
skrunilec, suzenj, satan,
stroj, smrt, smrt,
poziraš svojo sramoto
in ne moreš nehati
in mi odgovoriti,
ker si pošast,
ker imaš samo ušesa
in samo izdajalski trebuh,
nimaš pa jezika in resnice,
ne moreš mi reci slabic,
ne moreš mi reci silak,
ne moreš izgovoriti milost, obup,
ne moreš krikniti nehaj,
ves si vroc od suzenjskega besa,
bodi ozdravljen o pohabljeno bitje,
pravim ti, dobro je, da si tu,
neizreceno prav mi je,
da si noc in dan v zidu,
prekleti podaljšek,
zavrzeno uho Velikega Suma,
peklenski trebuh necloveške sile,
ki se noc in dan trese od slabosti,
zdaj si prebudil mojo moc,
mojo enotno in nedeljeno moc,
ne morem ti podtakniti
nic drugega od samega sebe,
sem, kar sem,
nemir in iskanje.
odkritost in bolecina,
istost in kar naprej istost,
vera, upanje, ljubezen,
tvoj veliki protisum,
sem, kar sem,
ne moreš me razdeliti
in me napraviti dvojnika.
nikoli me ne boš ujel
v lazi ali racunu,
nikoli ne boš rabelj moje vesti,
kar naprej boš poziral mojo radost
in tu pa tam mojo zalost,
da si mi sovraznik,
moj nerodovitni bliznjik,
tako popolnoma drugi in necloveški,
da se ne moreš strgati z verige
niti zblazneti ali napraviti samomora
Zdaj vidim,
da sem te upehal,
tvoj rep se je umiril,
in vendar je to šele osnutek
mojega mašcevanja,
moje pravo mašcevanje je pesem,
nikoli me ne boš odkril in spoznal,
nobena luc ne sveti ušesom,
ušesa so zazivela z vetrom
in z minevanjem
in bodo z minevanjem utihnila,
jaz pa sem jezik-plamen,
ogenj, ki je zagorel
in ne bo nehal goreti
in zgati.
...

We are finally alone
you and I,
but (don't even think
of taking it easy or resting
for your work is just now starting.
You will listen to my silence
which is loquacious
and draws you to the depth of truth.
Listen carefully now,
you beast with no eyes or tongue,
monster with ears only.
My spirit talks without voice,
shouts and screams inaudibly
with joy to have you here,
you Great Suspicion,
hungering for me to reveal myself,
My silence is opening books
and dangerous manuscripts,
lexicons and prophets,
ancient truths and laws,
stories of loyalty and torture.
There is no way you can rest,
you have to swallow this, gulp it down
though you arc already choking
and your car is exhausted.
You are unable to interrupt me
or say anything in return;
my time has arrived
and I insult you, curse you,
you impostor, poisoner,
desecrator, slave, satan,
machine, death, death.
You swallow your shame
and are condemned to listen
not to speak,
because you are a monster
with only ears
and a bellyful of treason;
no tongue or truth,
you are helpless, can call me neither weakling
nor powerful,
cannot utter words like 'grace' or 'despair,'
shout to me to stop
though you are burning with slavish rage.
I greet you, crippled creature,
am glad you are here
immured day and night,
you cursed extension of the Great Suspicion,
the diabolical belly of inhuman force
which is so feeble that it shudders day and night.
Now you evoke my power
my unified an undivided power,
I cannot plant someone else
in my place
I am who I am —
restlessness and searching,
sincerity and pain,
faith, hope, love,
your magnificent counter-suspicion —
you never can divide me,
make me your double,
catch me
lying or calculating.
You'll never be the executioner of my conscience,
you don't have a choice
bill to swallow my joy
or, at times, my sadness.
You, my enemy,
my infertile neighbor
so different and inhuman
unable to break loose
to become insane or to commit suicide,
I can tell
I wore you out,
your tail is between your legs
but this is only an outline.
of my revenge:
my true revenge
is a poem.
You will never know me,
your ears have no light,
will be hushed by the passage of time
while I am a tongue-flame
fire
that will never cease to bum
and scorch.
...

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.
...

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.
...

Povsod po svetu divjajo preganjalci,
toda najhujše je tisto preganjanje,
kadar te nihce ne lovi, pa se vendar
obnašaš kot izgubljena divja zival,
ko jo nevidni lovec zasleduje: ce
sediš doma v delovni sobi in piješ kavo
ali se v uradu dolgocasno preteguješ
in te niti najdrazja cigara v ustih
ne reši grozovitega obcutka krivde in
te ima nekdo resnicno v pesti, da se
potiš od smrtnega strahu in najrajši
sploh ne bi vede! zase ali pa bi se
pri prici vrgel iz devetega nadstropja.
To preganjanje je najstrašnejši beg
pred samim seboj in najusodnejša ujetost.
Nic ti ne pomaga, vsa vrsta so odprta
in vse pištole so ti na razpolago, ti
pa se sredi temne noci ali jasnega dneva
ne moreš niti ganiti od smrtnega strahu
pred neznano in neizrekljivo usodo.
...

The world is full of blood-thirsty persecutors,
but the worst persecution is
when you are not hunted,
but still act like a lost wild animal
tracked by an invisible hunter: when
you sit in your studio drinking coffee
or stretching bored in the office,
when even the fanciest cigar in your mouth
cannot relieve you from a dreadful sense of guilt
as if someone has a grip on you, making you
perspire with deadly fear, wishing, either you
didn't know who you were or could
throw yourself from the ninth floor.
This persecution is the most horrifying flight
from oneself, the most fatal capture.
Nothing helps, even though all doors are open
and all guns at your disposal, when you sit
amid black night or clear day
unable to move from the deadly fear
of an unknown, ineffable guilt.
...

We have arrived and stopped.
The dead tired partisan squad collapsed on the ground and
fell asleep. Only I was unable to find peace, the goal hid itself, I
lost the shortest way to oblivion.
My disconsolate spirit keeps searching, roaming from
darkness to light, from snow to blooming linden trees, from slopes
to valleys, from streets to primal forests, through wind and silence,
through moonlight and storms.
We resemble those who in ancient times made their
pilgrimage through the Red Sea barefoot, on horseback, armored,
with spears in their hands and fire in their eyes; with song on their
lips and longing in their hearts, calloused, burdened, scarred, dusty,
hunchbacked, loyal and happy they searched for the promised land.
The primal weight of time, cramming, cursing, praying, draws me
behind itself, pushing me. from behind, going always forward,
never backward.
One day I will pause on the forest edge at nightfall, the
evening sun will make me squint, and I'll shelter my eyes with
feverish hands and see before me a fertile clearing, green fields,
a fenced orchard, and a house among the trees, with barns and
a sunken bed in a depression of hay.
Then and only then will find my peace, close my eyes,
lean on my comrades, and wander into the wild like a sleep-walker
on a roof, stuttering incoherently as if from a vision:
'When one finds the land, why seek the sky?"
...

Prosim, da bi mi spomin segel dalec nazaj in obsegel vse dvome in obupe,
vsa upanj'a in zanose. vse sanje in pogrebe. vse prerokbe in razocaranja, vse
ubite, pohabljene in ranjene, oskrunjene, vse na oltar povzdignjene in v zastave
ovite, blazne od srece in trezne od nesrece, naj se spomnim vseh jokov in vriskov,
vseh smešnic in ljubezni, vseh grehov, vseh skokov v neznano, vseh pozarov.
Povodnji, potresov in bozjih zapovedi, naj si odkrijem vse nezne nitke, ki vezejo
telo in dušo, mene in bliznjika, naj si predocim vsa spocetja in blage sprostitve,
vsa sramotna priznanja in vsa cista stanja, vsega tega naj se spomnim v sebi
in v svoji okolici, predvsem pa naj se vkljucim v skupno krivdo in v skupno
odvezo. Prosim torej, da bi se še dalje drzal soseda pred seboj in soseda za
seboj in sprejemal porocila od spredaj in jih predajal nazaj, ceprav so vcasih tuja,
nerazumljiva, preteca ali pomirljiva, kratka in naporna. Morda nihce med nami
ne razume igre do kraja, vendar je drznost brezpogojna in vsevedna.
...

I implore my memory to reach back, to seize all doubts
and despairs, all hopes and passions, all dreams and funerals,
all prophecies and disappointments, all the killed, crippled
and wounded, desecrated, all exalted on altars and wrapped in
flags, all intoxicated by happiness and sobered from sorrow, let me
remember all weepings and jubilations, all funny stories and loves,
all sins, all leaps into the unknown, all fires, floods, earthquakes
and God's commandments, let all the tender fragile ties that bind
body and soul, me and someone else, be revealed, let me perceive
all conceptions and gentle abandons, all the shameful
confessions and states of purity, let the remembrances of a
l
these vibrate inside me and my surroundings, and let me be
included in the collective guilt and the collective absolution.
I, thus, request to be able. to keep neighbors in front of and behind
me, be the middleman of messages from the future even though
they at times are strange, incomprehensible, threatening or
calming, brief or tedious. It is probable that none of us fully
understands the whole game, but courage itself is absolute
and all-knowing.
...

Casnik poroca:
lipicanci so sodelovali
pri zgodovinskem filmu.
Radio razlaga:
Milijonar je kupil lipicance,
plemenite zivali so nemirne
ves cas poleta nad Atlantikom.
in ucna knjiga uci:
lipicanci so hvalezni jezdni konji.
Doma so s Krasa, proznega kopita,
gizdavega drnca, bistre cudi
in trmaste zvestobe.



In vendar ti dodajam, sinko,
da teh nemirnih zivali
ni mogoce spraviti v razvidne obrazce:
dobro je, kadar sije dan,
lipicanci so crna zrebeta.
in dobro je, kadar vlada noc,
lipicanci so bele kobile,
najbolje pa je,
kadar prihaja dan iz noci,
kajti lipicanci so belocrni burkezi,
dvomi šaljivci njenega velicanstva,
slovenske zgodovine.



Drugi so castili svete krave in zmaje,
tisocletne zelve in leve s perutmi,
samoroge, dvoglave orle in fenikse,
mi pa smo si izbrali najlepšo zival,
izkazala se je na bojišcih in v cirkusih.
prepeljevala je kraljicne in zlato monštranco,
zato so dunajski cesarji govorili
francosko s spretnimi diplomati,
italijansko z zalimi igralkami.
špansko z neskoncnim Bogom
in nemško z nešolanimi hlapci,
s konji pa so se pogovarjali slovensko.



Spomni se, otrok, kako skrivnostno
sta spojena narava in zgodovina sveta
in kako razlicna je vzmet duha
pri slehernem ljudstvu na zemlji.
Dobro veš, da smo zemlja tekem in dirk.
Zato tudi razumeš, zakaj so se beli konji
iz Noetove barke zatekli na naša cista tla,
zakaj so postali naša sveta zival,
zakaj so stopili v legendo zgodovine
in zakaj razburjajo našo prihodnost,
nenehoma nam išcejo obljubljeno dezelo
in postajajo zanosno sedlo našega duha.



Kar naprej sem na belocrnem konju.
mili moj sinko,
kakor poglavar beduinov
sem zrasel s svojo zivaljo.
vse zivljenje potujem na njej,
bojujem se na konju in molim na njem,
spim na konju in sanjam na konju
in umrl bom na konju,
vse naše prerokbe sem spoznal
na skrivnostni zivali,
in tudi to pesem sem dozivel
na njenem drhtecem hrbtu.



Nic temnejšega ni
od jasne govorice
in nic resnicnejšega ni od pesmi,
ki je razum ne more zapopasti,
junaki šepajo v svetlem soncu
in modrijani jecljajo v temi,
burkezi pa se spreminjajo v pesnike
krilati pegazi vedno hitreje dirjajo
nad votlinami naše stare zemlje
in poskakujejo in trkajo,
nestrpne slovenske zivali
še vedno budijo kralja Matjaza.



Kdor še ne zna zajezditi konja,
naj se cimprej nauci
ukrotiti iskro zival,
obdrzati se svobodno v lahkem sedlu
in uloviti ubrano mero drnca,
predvsem pa vztrajati v slutnji,
kajti naši konji so pridirjali od dalec
in so dalec namenjeni,
motorji radi odpovedo,
sloni prevec pojedo,
naša pot pa je dolga
in peš je predalec.
...