miroslav valek

Beating the Drum in Reverse

Shortly before my death I'm buying
a chrome plated
bicycle.
I ring my bell to let the whole world know you're
beautiful.
Shortly before my death, and yet only half-way there,
like a man who knows he won’t make it to the top of
the hill,
but doesn't give up and won't stop pedaling.
The last man in the race has long since passed from
his sight
and he has no connection,
he doesn't write home, gets no letters,
hasn't fallen in love with the brunette in the window
and hasn't drunk from others' wells.
Feeling himself behind him he makes a break
only to meet himself,
his other self
that he sense but vaguely,
as the apple-tree senses a bird.
And, maybe, that is the point of it all,
of that teeth gritting and obstinate ride...

We recognise ourselves in the rider with the tense
face
rounding the corner,
in our legs we can feel the ascent, as abrupt as a
storm,
the jangling of bells in our voice.
This is the journey that each must make
individually
within himself
and all together, each along his own track.
That is that miraculous perpetuum mobile,
the exchange of energy, division of cells,
the infinity
of man, his blood, his glory.

trans by david short

(this poem should be centre justified but stupid blogger, or more likely the stupid blogger, can't manage that)