MIROSLAV KIRIN is the author of six volumes of poetry and a novel. His poetry and fiction has been translated into Chinese, English, German, Hungarian, Romanian and Russian.
He also translates poetry and fiction from English.
The ground - still wet from the afternoon shower. Each little grass-blade
persistently returns the raindrops to the sky.
Having overheard this harmless dialogue, we failed to notice
the nightfall - suddenly it was there, between two cups of tea.
...
THE BOAT WAS PACKED FULL,
the coast deserted, soon to be lost from sight.
We were rowing for hours,
we were departing and arriving.
...
Unfathomable, just like when I rinse the dirty dishes in the warm, gushing water,
put them aside to dry, and my face is aglow with happiness.
With an unmeant easiness I open the window to let in the fresh morning air.
The water is boiling, and from the silvery box I add four teaspoons of coffee.
...
my tongue falls out of my mouth
it is no longer a tongue, it is a huge calf's liver
of the calf we slaughtered yesterday
...
They don't allow me to read on the tram, especially you, with your hair swinging
left-right.
You're tossing it onto the page I am reading, splaaash, all the words vanish
and I have to look up at you.
...