Angkor Wat 1, Angkor Wat 2, Rudimentary, Killing fields & Farsight
by Ilija Trojanow
[ poetry - january 03 ]
Angkor Wat 1
Let's presume the artist
Carved leaves out of bark
And stuck them on trees,
Speared by the thrust of soldiers
Marching out of their lives.
The arteries of the leaves,
The scalpel edge of the spear -
Blood is never spilled on bas-reliefs.
Worshipping hands caress the calves,
The warriors saved from time's disdain.
Angkor Wat 2 - North-eastern outer wall, 23/05/2002
If you can imagine Eden
you will enter heaven.
All sculptors failed.
I am only inspired,
one of them confessed,
lifting a glass too many
in the after-hours of sold-out love,
when I bend down
to chisel away at hell.
The moment my foot
steps on the ladder
my fingers become numb.
Rudimentary
Prasat Kravan, 23/05/2002
The beginning:
Fear makes big cubes
And shapes blind as shelter.
Every word is a prayer by default,
Every god a patriarch in disguise.
Chronology:
After the surrender of evolution,
The temples feature categories,
Every stone has become a slave.
Infinity has been found wanting.
Killing fields - Phnom Penh, 25/05/2002
Wan to see killing fields, mista?
I give you cheap, mista!
Dead cheap?
Wise crack no bone.
Play the numerology game.
One million? Must do better.
Study the entrails of a dumb dog.
Two million? Better than that.
Hold your moistened finger against the wind.
Three million? Convene a round table of seers.
Silence one better than shame.
Ok, let's ride to the skulls.
In a school they gambled with the devil.
Another victory at hand,
he stood up, derision on his tongue:
You always let me win,
me, the most feeble of your excuses.
Afterwards, floating to the moon,
a voice of reason blew a fuse.
Wan to have lady massage, mista?
I give you cheap, mista!
Not as cheap as skulls, though.
Farsight - Tuí Sam, 26/05/2002
Fields of stubbornness.
Red socks drawn over fists,
the knuckles watered with pain.
Set the pace, swing the hoe.
Day of hats and hammocks,
of saturated colours with well-rounded hips.
If rain is your best bet,
what does plastic buddha do for you?
We will climb the mountain,
we will burn the sticks.
Should we take a picture?
After all, we are clicking into place.
