Dekleva Milan:
XIX. Limping Sonnet

A cypress wanted to be a sonnet,

and words heard her.

An upright poem. Who was her grandfather?

She grew into a pure state. Silenced

by distances of the winds: by them she measured the world.

Into her cobalt branches growth wove

lovers’ glances, murders, quiet misfortunes.

With these, she carelessly straightened

through draughts, tempests, the sun’s assaults, the painful

greeting of snows. She gave


uprightness to everything, and thus withstood all.

To the deeds of the good and the evil she added


the sentience of wood. And a cypress cone, a bee sting

of heaven, to carry on with the making of poems.

Translated by Mia Dintinjana