Fate: but not as in Greek tragedy
\nwhere you carry it inside
\nwhere it’s written in your eyes.
\nFate like rain: a branch fallen
\nright in front of you,
\npointing to the graveyard;
\na blow of a hammer, a rendezvous of two rockets,
\na bloated stupidity of chance,
\nof victory of body over spirit,
\nvictory of a player over the throw of dice. <\/p>\n
I’M OBSERVING RED ROBINS<\/strong><\/p>\n pecking at the suet I hung Those golden rays of sun little Jesus Don’t play with it SLOW EVENINGS<\/strong><\/p>\n when even words were eaten they were forming an image, illegible, but flawless were still things, their melody AMONG THE WHITE DAILY FISHES <\/strong><\/p>\n You can kill it PALACE TRAP <\/strong><\/p>\n Memories: a palace trap leading you into a landscape, which won’t exist anymore, MOTHERS<\/strong><\/p>\n Mothers are always true — Mummy, there was no Troy, Translated, from the Czech, by the author and Stuart Friebert<\/em><\/p>\n Memories: a palace trap leading you into a landscape, which won’t exist anymore, By Sylva Fischerov\u00c3\u00a1.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":155,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[484,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-45142","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-maintenant","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/45142","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/155"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=45142"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/45142\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=45142"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=45142"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=45142"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\non a tree,
\nproving things
\nbelong together, one
\nbringing about another, a useful
\ncausality,
\nits trodden pavement,
\nfairytale of fairness…
\nBut men, and women! A trap
\nof desire and sense,
\nin which, all the time,
\nhidden streams flow, and rivers and
\nbig rivers, the tins of days, of
\nappointments and sentences,
\nstill, it hasn’t been said,
\nlitter, paper, curses
\nand kisses stuck in the air
\nlike handstamps from a child’s printing set,
\nnext to them
\nenwrapped ball of reproaches,
\npikes rising from it,
\nand above all
\njerky sleep,
\nrocked by a dream…<\/p>\n
\nused to slide down!
\nThat’s what I’d like to
\nit would be enough
\nfor all my life:
\nsliding with him
\ndown the ray
\nto my dark chamber
\nto the red robins
\ninto the eye of a full moon
\nwithout any lie or gloom <\/p>\n
\na lie
\ndestroys mystery<\/p>\n
\nand behind our backs<\/p>\n
\nan inscription<\/p>\n
\nas that other time when words<\/p>\n
\non the cold, charred ground<\/p>\n
\nbeat it up, as with
\na baseball bat
\nin the name of sociology
\nin the name of habit —
\ncircumstances appeared,
\nobstacles blossomed,
\n\u201cnot-to-hurt”
\nwhich hurts
\nWhat is it all about?
\nshe asked
\nI don’t know, he replied
\nand suddenly they were hemmed in
\nby a fence of Don’t know’s
\nas in a besieged Indian village
\nhelpless
\nwith their talismans and rituals
\nand with the huge burst —
\nwith that depth
\neverything was shooting up from
\nand flooding
\nwhite daily fishes, their well-rehearsed
\nhi’s and bye’s
\nbecause they touched
\na mystery
\nand nailed to it
\nlike an electric chair
\nthey exploded, detonating
\namong the white floating fishes
\nand passers-by who clapped
\neveryone
\nthe groundplan
\nof his private universe<\/p>\n
\nwhich never was, we always do remember things wrong. It’s a land of F \u00e9erie, where you pass stiff sculptures on the green grass.
\nThe land’s encircled by the Oceanos of Time. A time loop you can’t get out of.
\nOne day, all that milled sugar-tit of looks, sounds, smells will create
\namber, a creature trapped in luminous matter, a luminous
\njail: there’re hot and cold
\nmemories, all of them cooling down
\nin the amber,
\ndry sperm
\ninjected into white sheets,
\na reconciliation? Volvox globator
\nrolls its colony
\nfarther and farther, bundling up
\nthe rest of the world, globa terrae, a question of
\nperspective, of insemination, the reflector
\nof the past universe
\nblew up and
\nchanged into a red star
\nAldebaran, cold and
\nconfusing.<\/p>\n
\nbeside their dogs, their lamps and scissors
\nwhere fate’s carpet lies
\nand adult children
\nlike paintings on large plates.
\nMother has one eye
\nlike a cyclops
\nand the world’s full of dangers,
\nants crawling all over.<\/p>\n
\nbut many of us didn’t return.<\/p>\n![\"sfischerova\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/03\/sfischerova.jpg\")
\nABOUT THE AUTHOR<\/strong>
\nSylva Fischerov\u00c3\u00a1<\/strong> was born in 1963 in Prague. She grew up in the Moravian town of Olomouc as a daughter of non-Marxist philosopher whose works were banished under communist rule. She returned to Prague to study philosophy and physics, and later Greek and Latin, at Charles University where she now teaches ancient Greek literature and philosophy. She has published seven volumes of poems in Czech, and her poetry has been translated and published in numerous languages. An earlier selection of her poems, The Tremor of Racehorses<\/em>, translated by Ian and Jarmila Milner, was published by Bloodaxe in 1990. She recently began to write prose, and two books of her stories (Miracle and Passage), as well as two books for children, appeared since 2005. The Swing in the Middle of Chaos: Selected Poems<\/em>, co-translated with Stuart Friebert, was published by Bloodaxe in 2010.<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"![](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/03\/sfischerova-150x150.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\nwhich never was, we always do remember things wrong. It’s a land of F \u00e9erie, where you pass stiff sculptures on the green grass.
\nThe land’s encircled by the Oceanos of Time. A time loop you can’t get out of.
\nOne day, all that milled sugar-tit of looks, sounds, smells will create
\namber, a creature trapped in luminous matter, a luminous
\njail: there’re hot and cold
\nmemories, all of them cooling down
\nin the amber,
\ndry sperm
\ninjected into white sheets,
\na reconciliation? <\/p>\n