In the Midst of Silence

by Ivan Štrpka
translated from Slovak by James Sutherland–Smith

In the Midst of Silence
In memory of my grandfather, Štefan Štrpka,
Who fell at the end of the First World War somewhere in
Albania in 1917 leaving two sons.

Cold has boarded up the windows. It lurks in the chinks
light–footed steps presaging a horror.
A stain left by a mirror appears on the walls.

His voice dwindles. The snow
in the early morning squats on the roofs.
A shield, thrown, shading only a half–waking in the overhangs
barely shimmers.
Dusk and snow and earth mixed,
engraved by the fall of a warrior who lies
face down and with a naked
forearm resists all the burden of the snow’s weight.

Silence is under the pall
Only a blind tournament. Only
wandering with the intense fluid of his kin
to penetrations deeper than a day.

His last breath out wholly
exposes his face:

and in sharp touch two naked summer children go under a mask
with flickering reeds being immobilized in the light . . .

A new mask is sketched under the mask.