Michal Habaj
Michal Habaj Poems
This very night bites you with the moon in your face.
Sharp glistening teeth of the towers lit up the stars above our city,
as the black sky falls heavily into the gardens.
You are singing, dear princess of laboratories,
...
in dark forests: thickets and copses:
cyborgs: steel-swarthy constructions:
with mouthfuls of wild strawberries ponder:
what fujara was: who was a shepherd:
...
a faint shadow of a sister...
...that which emanates from fragile translucent bodies of plants
and autumn melancholies, faces of girls
frightened by coming of age.
...
A wing of eternity flashes above a serene night
and momentarily envelops the temple like flesh to a soul.
Poplars are snowballing,
and Maria turns her cheek to memories,
...
Between me and you
a few negligible centuries
flutter like a curtain in a window.
Here they are: a divan, chairs, candlesticks on the tables,
...
I saw seven-year-old models: exchanging
books instead of napkins: counting calories
in dumplings with pudding in school cafeterias: spelling
their names from fashion mag covers: the best
...
we saw deserts: covered with fine powder of Soir
de Paris: we saw seas: flooded with shampoos:
and moors blood-red deposits of nail varnish:
we saw the sun: blazing in the clouds reminiscent of
...
(dedicated to Valdemarr van Staveren van Dijk)
the wind hushes its breath so pretty are the hairstyles of the girls
the little wooden chapel is praying for their souls
...
Michal Habaj Biography
Michal Habaj is a poet, novelist and literary scientist. He was born in 1974 in Bratislava. He studied Slovak Language and Literature, and completed his doctoral studies at the Institute of Slovak Literature, Slovak Academy of Science, where he currently works. He is the author of the monography Second Modernism (2005).)
The Best Poem Of Michal Habaj
Damask
This very night bites you with the moon in your face.
Sharp glistening teeth of the towers lit up the stars above our city,
as the black sky falls heavily into the gardens.
You are singing, dear princess of laboratories,
you are singing with your face shut,
in the chambers void of a soul, desolate,
miles away from the extracted veins.
The centurian mechanism frail as a bird´s heart
has been cutting you into a deep diamond. Today cyborgs
are imitating rococo, courting you
with their hands in the universe as in a vase of flowers.
Powdered face and iron-bodied,
they lay down with you in soft beds of flesh.
You are bleeding, even more subtly than a rose kissed by a breeze,
and yet it´s not a well of blood deep inside your flower,
that makes a cyborg want to blow and fly.
There I am, under a balcony, singing out your nacreous genitalia,
weaving my lines into an invisible path of desertion.
In this boat, like in a déja-vu, we´re floating
down from Cyberia to Bratislava and the Danube
is nothing but a little thread in the Damask napery
as the night catches me by surprise near a cup of tea.
English Translation from Martin Solotruk
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