There is hardly more than the eyes, the open air, the grass and the water in the distance . . .

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"DEPARTURE

The horizon slopes away

The days are longer
Trip

A heart hops in a cage
A bird sings
It is going to die
Another door is going to open
At the end of the corridor
Where a star
Begins to shine
A dark-haired woman
The lantern of the departing train

("Departure")"

On sait à peu près pourquoi une œuvre est mauvaise. Mais bien moins pourquoi elle est bonne.

One looks for some other words but the ideas are always just as dark, just as simple and singularly painful.

The lock in the heart that shatters
A thread of silk
A thread of lead
A thread of blood
After these waves of silence

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"ADIEU

The glimmer farther away than the head
The heart-skip
On the slope where the air rolls its voice
The spokes of the wheel
the sun in the rut
At the crossroads
near the embankment
a prayer
Some words that are not heard
Nearer the sky
And on its steps
the last square of light

("Adieu")"

Myslím, že nejsem ani básník, ani spisovatel, ani umělec. Ale člověk, který nenašel jiný způsob, jak zůstat ve styku s životem, jak se udržet nad hladinou. Psal jsem, jako se chytáme záchranného pásu.

The trees are extremely alive . . .

There is no love; there are only proofs of love.