• DIE SCHLÖSSER BEI KRAPINA

    Lako je čovjeku,
    On ima e. e. cummingsa,
    Koji imena i prezimena piše
    Malim slovima. Malim,
    Malcatim. Majušnim.

    Ima čovjek i Slovenca
    Srečka Kosovela, kome je
    Mjesečina hladna kao sladoled,
    Kao i slične nepodopštine.

    Naš Ljudevit, međutim,
    Samo se izležava, dok mu
    Nacija klone
    U dvorcima, pretvarajući se
    U kosti i duhove, kao
    Klonirani babuni
    U BMW-ima 540.

    Ili kojom drugom zgodom
    Svakako valja promijeniti okolicu.
    Makar u zimbabveanskim šumama.

    To jest, slično istome.

    Naš Lujo nije hladan
    Sladoled malih slovaca.
    On je e. e. cummings
    Na mjesečini.
    Držeći bravu dvorca
    U šupljini onog pojasa.
    Što obvi i Majušnoga i
    Slovenca. Nevinosti se
    Preporučivši kao dva
    Baskervilska paščeta
    U nižim razinama
    Pjesničkog bitka, kad svi su
    Kako reče: "Ah Zih Komen."
    Kad im srčane kćeri pušu u uda.
    Ne kazavši ni:
    " - M!"... more »

  • DIE SCHLÖSSER BEI KRAPINA

    It's simple for the man,
    He has e.e. cummings,
    Who wrote his name in
    Little letters. Little,
    Teeny. Minuscule.

    And he has the Slovene
    Srečko Kosovel too, with his
    Moonlight cold as ice-cream,
    And suchlike ineptitudes.

    Our Ljudevit, though, simply
    Takes his ease
    While his nation droops
    In the castles, transmuting into
    Bones and spirits, like a troupe
    Of cloned baboons
    In BMW 540s.

    Or by some other chance
    Better a change of scene, at least.
    Even in the forests of Zimbabwe.

    That is, alike the same.

    Our Lujo is no cold
    Ice-cream of little letters.
    He's e. e. cummings
    In the moonlight.
    Bearing the lock of the castle
    In the hollow of that belt
    Which encircles both Minuscule
    And the Slovene. Innocently putting
    Themselves forward like two
    Puppies of the Baskervilles
    In the lower rankings of the
    Being of the Poetry, when all
    Are, as they say,
    "Ach Sich Kommen."
    When their daring daughters suck on a bone.
    Not even mouthing,
    "F-!"... more »

  • KUPUJEMO BODEŽE

    Vesni, iz zafrkancije



    Kupio sam ovcu. Bijelu s pokojom pjegom, kao
    U dalmatinerskog bastarda u šetnji pokrajnjim
    Ulicama Prijestolnice. Kupio sam ovcu za 100
    DEM. Ali, što ću s njom? Ni žrtvenika nemaju
    Ti anđeoski tajkuni u duty free shopovima. Ali.

    Što ću s njom? Nisam ja onaj otac iz Samarije.
    Iz mene urlaju vjetrovi a ne lipti krv nakon što
    Korovi otpjevaju uspavanke mrtvima.
    Ne bih komentirao moguće posljedice. No, kako
    Se svi boje srca, čak i u pustinji i na Highwayu
    No 74 (u onim spravama što samo sapunice
    Troše) - osjećam se kao mlijeko u murvinim
    Bačvama. Kože tigrova iznad suha sijena,

    Kada ono b'jasmo bili s onim akterima i ak-
    Tresama podno draga nam Kilimandžara. Smi-
    Šljajući nove recitative o ćudorednosti ljudske
    Vrste i pohoti u krevetima od trske i slame.

    Okruženi mrežama za komarce ujutro ćemo
    Odlučiti, više ja a manje ti, da kupimo bodeže
    za grlo te ovce.
    Usput, lisice se slažu s mišlju
    O tebi. Ipak, nisam ja lisica kojoj treba čudo
    Da šeće tvojim petrarkističkim perivojem.
    (Kako već jednom rekoh.)

    Tamo su već instalirali ekran i predstava može
    Početi kada ti daš nevidljivi mig sjeni koja
    Hara još nepripremljenim švedskim stolom
    Ispod platane.

    Gdje ono kušasmo sieste poslije kaštradine,
    Kisela kupusa i ono malo vina što nam preostade
    Poslije paleži svih naših najljepših vinograda.... more »

  • ONDINA BEZ MAGISTRALA I

    na vrućem embrionu cvrči krčmarska Suza,
    šebojev cvijet i kutikula padaju na tas,
    Ondinin šaš od fela tijela traži (z)guza
    ili na hunskom konju, duboko i uz kas

    na mjehuriću plastične loptice embriona
    žlice, rašpa, tušta i tma sub specie rosa
    ugljenari ga pune prašinom što, eto, smiona
    u zlatnom visku psine nestaje u krvi koza

    u vodenoj kudri lokvanja mokri li ta pica?
    ili to svemirac nabija Luddu lak skafander
    što Ondini dalmoški zbori: "A di su ti dica?"

    i nestaje, zapreten i sav, u rupu i svemirski Luk,
    a kao živa hidra šišti i buja u pici ekspander:
    "To je, Svjetska Ondino, bio Lipi-Sveopći-Fuk!"... more »

  • ONDINA BEZ MAGISTRALA II

    Ondina na puti drži lijehu logosa i drop,
    jato ševa i lijet, atlas i kučji greben
    - bujica zlatne pjene puttoa steže u trop,
    u magične aršine gvožđa kojima je jeben

    pjanac-rašpar, diskar i Krupp igraju bridž
    a sablasti lijeno brenče kao u moru zaton
    i miješaju cikluse vegetacije k'o Coleridge
    - dok u prerijskoj dini onaniraju Krist i Platon

    Ondina pali kosu i ždere suhi trap meridijana,
    kor slijepih i memlu s kosog tornja u Pisi,
    a negdje, kroz disk pupka hlapi more encijana

    lepet osinjih rila, tučkova i monolita
    s kojeg čahura maka, puna krvi, u drob sklizi.
    a Ondinino tijelo? za to tijelo - tko te pita!... more »

  • ONDINA BEZ MAGISTRALA III

    dok žvačeš lakmus i uran runa, je li te trta?
    dok embrion i mozak na koptskom brvnu glođu rakuni
    dok prozirna koža s lojem i naftom linja i prši hrta
    dok mrtve šarune i kolomaz slažu i žvaču na laguni?

    Ondino! Ondino! bekrija ti i usrano slini rater
    u hipu i gibu vodene krmke, u širu oklopa kornjače
    sere na tepih ulja i mjedi: ti si familias mater!
    ti si štene u dječjoj mokraći, u krcu i prcu Zornjače!

    otkrij, razori, smoždi, upali, iskovrčaj to meko runo
    burgijaj u sintezi i čoporu tala, u čoji i čaju od mente
    išti djeliće željezne prašine i crna mesa skiptra, o Luno!

    nek' gorivo dahće i ključa, krpi i lokotu i venus-čamcu
    u bičevima što se roje i liju u mesingani drob pente
    i drhti u salu mramora i sapunskom iću, u frigidnom mamcu.... more »

  • ONDINA BEZ MAGISTRALA IX

    na tvoju, zlatom obrubljenu, pičku stavljam mak
    nudim ti zatiktalu riznicu i prepun moj ud
    jer ja sam jahač kroz tvoju astralnu krv i slak
    hoću da ti dam smaragdni penis - ja sam ludd*

    Ondina, Ondina, Ondina, Ondina bez magistrala
    močim te u zlatni prah crnog mesa, u kupku rogača,
    u biljni dar sa čela, cinkani ključ i pepeo astrala
    uz lepet školjki u mraku, šapat vuka i pucanj korbača**

    na tvom trbuhu palim vatru jer znam - ti si brija
    na čelo lijepim miševe i mrtve, rosom bijele krpelje
    u oči indijske noževe i zmije (u njima stelja klija,

    možda i trn glicinije), majmune, perut i riblju pašu
    što sjutra u pari kita i tritonskog prca - melje
    bakarne libre na kojima Jašu jaše i - m a š u... more »

  • ONDINA BEZ MAGISTRALA XI

    list lijesa lomi se na trnu mrke ruže
    gdje Rilke krepava i moči oči i kreč,
    gdje prepoznaješ ikru, kvas i vrtne puže,
    ali slavi! - u šaci soli drhti moj grgeč

    u slijedu prhova i muha slijedi kokanje,
    živi gar odakle su niti svijetle stigle
    da mrču i zapretu flusno crno lokanje
    da dohvate bijes muda i tebske krigle.

    u zraku i svršnom vazduhu piše se krok,
    mrs ukljeva i sadne tišine mrtvih gena,
    na koje, u hladu, na žici, iz kite piša Grock

    u epruveti, u kori rajčice, u kršu iz Oza
    u najbrundavijoj bužici erogenih žena
    gdje se topi tijelo iz kog' curka - boza.... more »

  • ONDINA UNCROWNED II

    Ondina's flesh carries a flowerbed of logos and dregs
    a flock of flying fucks, an atlas and puppy crumples,
    - a torrent of cherubic golden froth stiffens the husks,
    into magic yardsticks of iron with which they are fucked

    the drunk scraper, the discard and Krupp are playing bridge
    while ghosts lazily rumble like the sea in a lagoon
    and change the cycles of vegetation like Coleridge
    - while Christ and Plato masturbate in a prairie dune

    Ondina sets fire to mown grass devouring the dry trap of the meridians,
    the blind choir and stale air of the leaning tower of Pisa,
    and somewhere a sea of gentians evaporates thru the belly button's disk

    the flutter of wasps' wings, pistils, bells and monoliths
    from which a poppy cartridge, full of blood, slides to the bowels.
    and Ondina's body? for that body - who gives a hang!... more »

  • ONDINA UNCROWNED III

    while you chew litmus and rune's uranium, are you scared silly?
    while the embryo and brain on the Coptic joist is chucked by raccoons
    while pellucid skin peels with fat and oil flits the greyhound
    while dead horse mackerels and grease pile up and devour the lagoons?

    Ondina! Ondina! you boozy and oozy defecator
    in the instant and stride of the water hole hog, the range of the turtle shell
    shitting on a carpet of oil and brass: you're the mater familias!
    you're the pup in the infant's piss, in morning star's brew and screw!

    uncover, demolish, whop, ignite, and twist that soft woolly muff
    drill into the synthesis and pile of residue, the homespun fabric and menthol tea
    ask for bits of iron dust and the black core of scepters, oh Luna!

    may the fuel wheeze and boil, darning the lock and Venus-boat
    in the whips that swarm and pour into brass entrails of the outboard
    and tremble in marbled fat and soap meals of frigid bait.... more »

  • Ondina Uncrowned Iii

    While you chew litmus and rune's uranium, are you scared silly?
    while the embryo and brain on the Coptic joist is chucked by raccoons
    while pellucid skin peels with fat and oil flits the greyhound... more »

  • ONDINA UNCROWNED XI

    a forest leaf breaks on the thorn of a black rose
    where Rilke is dying and dipping his eyes in lime,
    where you recognize spawn, yeast and garden snails,
    but rejoice! - my perch quivers in a fistful of salt

    after the flutters and flies come the killing
    live coals from which shreds of light come near
    to smear and obstruct the black fluvial swilling
    grasp madness by the balls and the Theban mugs of beer

    the air and terminal argon is just a crock,
    the bait for bleaks and the seedy silences of dead genes,
    wherefrom a shaded tightrope, Grock pisses from his cock

    into a test tube, into a tomato skin, into the debris of Oz
    into the most horny hummer of a hole in erogenous women
    where the body melts and oozes - Cola.... more »

  • RIJEČKE ŽENE U SENEGALU

    (na sajmu 1756. godine)



    Malo je riječkih žena bilo u Senegalu.
    Do tamo ih je plâvilo plavetnilo neba,
    do natrag strelice date njima i graalu
    - vesla samljevena u sjene, crnačka Teba.

    Malo ih se i vratilo, napola s kugom -
    napola tetovirane vlaknima pamuka -
    rastopljenim starim pečatima, slugom
    mliječna spolovila, umom u kome je muka.

    Malo je riječkih žena bilo u Senegalu.
    Malo ih se i vratilo, napola s kugom.
    U lazaretima su ih podavali Baalu -
    hranili zmijama, plašili tugom i rugom.

    Vatrili ih vatrom, slušali kroz zrcalo,
    u kome se, k'o u očima, dijete - koprcalo.... more »

  • THE RIJEKA WOMEN IN SENEGAL

    (at the 1756 Expo)



    There were few Rijeka women in Senegal,
    The sky's blue blued them on the out-voyage then,
    until return the arrows given and the grail
    - oars milled into shadows, Thebes of the black men.

    Few of them returned, half were plague-ridden -
    Half were cicatrised by cotton thread -
    by ancient melted seals, one bidden
    by milky privates, by a tormented head.

    There were few Rijeka women in Senegal.
    Few of them returned, half were plague-ridden.
    In quarantine they handed them over to Baal -
    fed them on snakes, grieved them with scorn unhidden.

    Fired them with fires, through the mirror listening,
    wherein a child is squirming, as in eyes a-glistening.... more »

  • THE WRECK OF THE ORPHIC TEMPLE

    There is little iron and imagination
    in the windy corridors.
    They have spawned a cover of rain.
    They say. Such a speaker
    surely lost his head, or froze before
    the mysteries had run their course.
    Sacrifices take refuge in woods and fog.
    A voice tells me: Beware of venomous
    creatures, they are clothed like men
    but feed on the strength of gods in strife.
    The Sibyls are sung in a country of graves
    and none will speak of poetry,
    of its economy of expression.

    The marble and spirals will not be substances,
    still less linen. You might have dined
    by night, croaked the magus, tricked out as fear,
    and his painful knees protested: You think
    you differ from the apparitions?
    I said: The serpent is on its way
    to drink your shadow, not mine, but he
    will have none of it, as though
    I lick my balsamed tongue.

    Chimaeras will kill me.
    The veins are glass.... more »

  • ROSA VAGINA

    (s pripjevom nina-nana)



    U puni sat okrugli disk Mjeseca siše
    snježnu dječju mokraću i zlatne embrione prhkih djevica:
    svježa humka pederpolisa i zupčast i oštar jezik
    pizdolizaca lelujaju dok rosa hermetica urla
    sitnoj, bijeloj, hladnoj vodenoj djeci:
    Nina-nana! Nina-nana! Nina-nana! Nina-nana!

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    Najednom iz tvojeg vrata od mekog stakla oči kaplju
    na bradavicu dojke i tučak mliječnog cvijeta tvoje sestrice
    koja u štali hrani jegulje i koptske žirafe:
    Nina-nana! Nina-nana! Nina-nana! Nina-nana! Nina-nana!

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    O Ahura-Mazdo, Bijeli Gospodaru, izloži mrtvi grad
    na "tornjeve šutnje", neka ga svete ptice Ormuzde prožderu.

    Mrtvački obrazi brčkaju se i dišu u mramornim bazenima
    alpskog mlijeka, tvrdnu i čupaju dlake, piju ptičja muda,
    a vonj jaraca udara s morem o Kvarner:
    tvoja sestrica Janko Poliću okreće svoju musavu glavu
    jadranskim tritonima i aligatorima, dok dolje! pogledaj!.
    Nina-nana! Nina-nana!

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    Usamljena ostaje rosa vagina, rastresenih slanih latica,
    s glavom čeličnog leptira rascijepanom osmijehom i
    rojevima bumbara nina-nana-nina-nana-nina nana-nina.
    U vrtu čoje i blitve, u grmu rajčice dahće
    Krist u skafanderu, držeći u slobodnoj ruci preglasoviti
    kamen iz Cromwelova mjehura nina-nana-nina-nana-nina-nana.

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    Nina-nana! Nina-nana! Nina-nana! Nina-nana! Nina-nana! Nina!

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    Nina-nana! Nina-nana! Nina-nana! Nina-nana! Nina-nana! Nina!

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    balastu fauna i čegrtanju lanca s podmornice
    jeguljci krpe prpu i jal čvorova na suhu,
    maljeve milja i kamenjarke pod banderama i perikama
    visci i libele gube smisao i cilj - pucaju u krugu. Nina!

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    Nana!... more »

  • ROSA VAGINA

    (with refrain Lulla-lullay)



    On the hour the round disk of the Moon sucks
    the snowy baby piddle and golden embryos of crispy virgins:
    the fresh mound of gay-polis and saw-toothed and sharp tongue
    of muff divers sway while rosa hermetica howls
    at the tiny, white, cold water children:
    Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay!

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    Suddenly from your neck of delicate glass eyes drip down
    onto the breast's nipple and your little sister's milk-flower pistil
    who feeds eels and Coptic giraffes in a barn:
    Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay!

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    Oh Ahura Mazda, White Master, expose the dead city
    on the "towers of silence", let the holy birds of Ormuzd devour it.

    Cadaverous cheeks splash and respire in marble swimming pools
    full of alpine milk, pluck hardened hairs, drink bird balls
    and the stench of billy goats and the sea strike at the Kvarner shore:
    Janko Polić, your kid sister turns her slobbery face
    to the tritons and alligators of the Adriatic, while down there! look!
    Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay!

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    Rosa Vagina is left forlorn, with strewn salty petals
    and the head of a steel butterfly dissevered by a smile and
    swarms of bumblebees lulla-lullay-lulla-lullay-lulla lullay-lulla.
    In a garden of tweed and spring greens a panting
    Christ in a space suit holds in his free hand the much too famous
    stone from Cromwell's bladder lulla-lullay-lulla-lullay-lulla-lullay.

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay! Lulla!

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay! Lulla-lullay! Lulla!

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    the ballast of fauna and rattle of submarine chains
    baby eels patching up the crumples and envy of stranded knots,
    fuzz of delight and hustlers under streetlights and wigs
    plumb lines and spirit levels lose sense and meaning - shooting in circles. Lulla!

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    Lullay!... more »

  • RUŠENJE ORFIČKOG HRAMA

    Malo je željeza i mašte
    u vjetrovitim hodnicima.
    Od njih je nastao pokrivač kiše.
    Kažu. Tko to govori taj sigurno nema
    svoju glavu, ili se smrznuo prije nego je
    sadržaj misterija bio završen.
    Žrtve se sklanjaju u drveće i maglu.
    Veli mi glas: Čuvaj se otrovnih
    stvorova, imaju odoru ljudi ali
    žive od snage posvađanih bogova.
    U zemlji grobova pjevaju se sibile i
    nitko neće pričati o poeziji,
    nitko o njenoj ekonomiji izraza.

    Mramor i spirale neće biti supstance,
    rublje još manje. Mogao si blagovati
    noću, reče kroz grkljan mag koji se
    prerušio u strah a njegova bolesna
    koljena cvile: Misliš da se
    razlikuješ među priviđenjima?
    Rekoh: Zmija dolazi piti tvoju
    a ne moju sjenu, ali on to poreče
    kao da ližem svoj jezik od balzama.

    Himere će me ubiti.
    Vene su staklene.... more »

  • TO DIE IN ŠOTOVENTO

    (Sottovento, on the zig-zag route: Glavotok-Milohnići-Linardići-Žgaljić-
    Bajačić-St. Chrysogonus'- the cyclamen field and prosciutto at Klisko's)



    Bitching at my tools I made good
    Ones nonetheless. Walking shoes. With solid heels.
    Scented like glue and women's brushes.
    Leather for shoe-tip made in one piece.
    The heart unfeeling returns it as an image
    In the second part of the pair, too.

    I passed through deaths in them -
    Exchanging them for slippers
    Of fake felt, damp, from the cold karst.
    (Like darling copperplates by M. C. Crnčić
    Of those telling moments we imagine -
    The one, maybe, when Vladimir Lunaček put
    Left hand to forehead for him. In his accustomed, writerly way).

    In engravings we are of dust. Sometimes
    They are ours after break-ins to
    Abandoned out-of-town apartments.

    From the next-door poems footsteps clatter
    Around the memories and short-cuts more
    Deceptive and deceiving than
    Our soles. Which we displayed like gifts
    Willed to us in an early Romanesque church
    Sheep have moved into. Grazing day-long
    On cyclamens around the humble groves with the scent
    Of parting ways. I said already, long before,
    In unfinished market squares, it is hard
    To die in Šotovento. Even in the jeep
    Inflaming our flanks.

    That's so. They're echoing.... more »

  • UMRIJETI U ŠOTOVENTU

    (Sottovento na cik-cak relaciji: Glavotok-Milohnići-Linardići-
    -Žgaljić-Bajačić-Sv. Krševan-polje ciklama i pršut kod Kliska)



    Lajući na alat izradih ipak dobre.
    Cipele za šetnju. I pete su čvrste.
    Mirišu po ženskim kičicama i ljepilu.
    Koža za kapicu iz jednoga komada.
    Okrutno ga srce ponavlja kao sliku
    I na drugom dijelu para.

    Prolazio sam u njima kroz smrti -
    Zamjenjujući ih papučama od lažnog,
    I mokrog, filca iz hladna krasa.
    (Tako su slatki bakrorezi M-a Cl-a Crnčića
    O tim snažnim situacijama našega uma -
    Kao ona kada mu Vladimir Lunaček stavi lijevu
    Ruku na čelo. Kako je i manirski uobičajeno.)

    U bakropisima smo iz praha. Koji nam
    Gdjekad pripadaju poslije provala
    U napuštene provincijske stanove.

    Iz susjednih pjesama koraci klepeću
    Po sjećanju i prečicama što nas varaju
    Na način perfidniji od naših tabana. Koje
    Izložismo kao zavjetne darove u
    Ranoromaničkoj crkvi u koju smjestiše
    Ovce. Cjelodnevno hranjene ciklamama
    Okolo niskih gajeva s mirisom
    Razlučenih smjerova. Teško je, kako već
    Davno rekoh, na nedovršenim trgovima,
    Umrijeti u Šotoventu. Čak i u jeepu
    Koji nam pali slabine.

    Jest. One ječe.... more »

  • WANTED: BLADES To V

    To Vesna, for fun



    I have bought a sheep. White, some spots, like
    A Dalmatian mongrel on walkabout in the by-ways
    Around the Capital. I have bought a sheep for
    One hundred bucks. What am I to do, though? Those
    Tycoons angels in the Duty-Frees are out of altars. What

    Am I to do though? I am not that Samaritan father.
    From me winds howl yet blood streams not after
    Choirs have sung their lullabies to the dead.
    I shan't comment on what may transpire. But, as
    All fear the heart, even in the desert and on Highway 74
    (in those contraptions which run on
    Soaps and no more) - I feel like milk in barrels of
    Mulberry wood. Tigers' skins over dried hay,

    Then when we were with those actors and
    Actresses at the foot of our fond Kilimanjaro.
    Contriving new recitatives on the moral of the
    Human species and lust in beds of thorn and straw.

    Enveloped by mosquito nets we will decide
    In the morning, me more and you less, to buy blades
    For that sheep's throat.
    The vixens, incidentally, concur
    About you. Still, I am no vixen needing a miracle
    To walk about your Petrarchian garden.
    (As I said once already.)

    The screen is already set up there and the show can
    Start when you sign imperceptibly to the shadow
    That ravages the Swedish table still unprepared
    Beneath the plane tree.

    There where we tasted siestas after smoked mutton,
    Pickled cabbage, and the little wine that was left to us
    After all our loveliest vineyards had been burned.... more »