Zbornik Mednarodnega literarnega srečanja Vilenica 2004 - Ljudmila

Louis de Paor
The Singer
These two here in front of me
think he’s singing to only them
when he plays a loving lament,
their fingers ache to be home
where they can play on each
other till morning. The lonely
and old flames are amazed
a man they’ve never met
has the broken tunes of their dreams
off by heart on the tip of his tongue.
When he touches the strings
that tied them together the first time
ever, the married couple in the corner
move closer in spite of themselves.
When the sleeve of the man’s shirt
brushes his wife’s shoulder, a young fella
at the other end of the room
takes off his summer jumper and asks the barman
to turn the heat down for God Almighty’s sake.
The girl made lovely by sorrow prays
he’ll never rest until he finds her.
Outside, a fleet of sirens storms the night,
squad cars, ambulances and fire-brigades
running from the fire that can’t be put out
in the smouldering hearts of the men inside
who are late again for the neverending funeral.
Beside the bridge, the Morse code
of loneliness broadcast on flurries
of air is clear as day to the man
who has just jumped. The water is smooth
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