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authors : Luboš raf Rafaj & Otto Štemberka

Translator : Ivoš Průša



All of us have roots. Hidden from our sight, they´re like fingers of invisible hands groping for the substance of our beginnings. Unconscious craving for grasping it seems to contain hope for understanding. Like trees, we also show the world just our visible bodies, but the essentials (in the deepest sense of the world) remains hidden inside us as well as from ourselves. Only seldom, at the onslaught of everyday living can the props of old photos help hoist the floodgates of imagination aimed against the time´s passage leading to the children´s land where every prayer begins with – Mummy, Daddy. This is where we come from and where we set out on the pilgrimage to the end which equals the beginning.




Branches are roots

Reaching out to the sky




I am sad like a dog

It smells of sweat here and hay on the loft

I´m perceiving inscripted stones

Smell of work and cottage and woods

One of the stones bears your name

Gonna sit by your side  recalling the past…




Before the eyes can get used to the life´s light, the switch clicks.




Rotten limbs – soil´s memory




A word in the mind´s silence – a child in the mother´s womb

Birth is the key to time


When time spreads our dust over stormy heights

It´ll silence fear also in fingerprints…




There´s a fire dancing in front of a shaman – miracle is the ability to imitate




Where the land meets the sky

There´s a place where the world can be left

It suffices to lie on the belly

– not thinking –

to roll over fast and hope

that the horizon will be covered in darkness

the way back disappearing…




Miriads of stars – golden sandpit for the creator´s play




Whispering leaves – pianist´s fingers

Moon in the sky clamped at G point

among five high-voltage wires

sets the first tone




The life´s line on my hand – crossed by the line of the sedge

conjuring up trills on it – like from the bugle´s edge




The moon´s writing in the sky

Sometimes C and sometimes D

The silver CD is playing for you and me




Watching the night sky

We resemble blind men

Feast for our eyes, food for our dreams…




The sky full of stars – milestones of future roads

I´m writing as if I don´t know that roads can lead to hell




Just lying in the grass


Stars above me

Hardly breathing

Even stars are out of breath in the morning

Then I´ll stand up and go

For now just lying on my back

Clouds flying in the furious wind on the dark screen

I´m projecting our lives on the sky




Life´s queueing for the cemetary

Some value their places

Others jump the queue

Everyone shortens the waiting his own way

Influencing the state of things is impossible for you…




Our history turns on the spiral – of a curled-up snake




Just a second hand of the kitchen clock ticking into the night

Counting the time towards the morning

I´m sitting in the rumble waning towards the morning




Sleeping is like making love to Death

It´s not the same though

After Death there´s no waking

But I wake up in the morn´

And read – yesterday´s death certificate




It´s a July Wednesday of 2004, high noon

Half a day

Half a week

Half a month

Half a year

Half a life…




Last time I turned the door

The story was short

Thw weekend has left scores of memories inside me

Girls were laughing and we could chat

Now and then even without words.

I can smell wood in the door

I can hear „trust“ in the door

And an ever-repeating story

Of departures and returns

And anything else?

The right key…




The tree

Old and dry


only thanks to

its trunk

Nothing can hurt it

That hollow skeleton

But still I can feel it shaking…




I´m not just a guy

I´m a map of veins

If you didn´t follow my blue-coloured path

I could hardly survive my pains.

You knew the path to my heart.




Before stones turn to boulders – water must run over them many times

Changing shapes is a God´s gift…




Through a glass body of a goblet

Our view enters the wine´s realm

Harmony of colours, smell and taste – bringing a gift

Space and shape





Glasses that enable eyes to see

Are needed for everything

To which we remain blind





Suffice to wink

It´ll run down your cheeks

Liquid traces of your emotions

Will dry up like wounds

From prickly brambles

You´re here




Quiet surface of a pond is like a mirror

It reflects the tops of trees standing on its bank

Clouds sail along it, it reflects the sun

It occurs to me to walk on…

Along the path flickering on the surface in the whiffs of wind




My road is the wounded land´s scar

Time´s its healer

Mind is gifted with the ability

To suffer through destruction




Saint Florian

My guardian angel living close to our house

It´s about a hundred and twenty-four steps

Every time I feel anxious I go and ask him for help and advice

I lean my head against the grating and utter my little prayers whose words

I picked up somewhere and I really mean them




Temple´s nave

Is setting sail

Into the waves

Of advent tones

Each crew member

Longs to sail elsewhere

At least for a while

We are led

By the captain




From the scattered haze of alcohol inebriation I can see blurred faces

of empty people

I am scared

I am just a man as well




Behind a window in a dark street there´s nothing happening as usual

Half moon is in the sky and the stars´ beauty

And inside people despite their exuberance and cheer

there´re PEOPLE dying.




If emptiness could be hit

I would be covered in bruises and scars

Emptiness and silence are all around me

In emptiness I stand

I sit into empty space

I drink an empty glass

Who´ll fill it up for me?

Just you yourself…




Fortune´s child

I was born at high noon´s quiet.

Lying in a snow-white bed

Opening my eyes with no regret.

The first to welcome me to this world is my Mummy.

And then outside a guy

His eyes shining with joy.

With a huge smile he keeps telling me something I don´t understand.

My first word is Daddy…




Milky Way is just a grain in space

There´s still milk running down our chin…




As I go through my capita(list) life I say to myself

I had golden times when I went through my socia(list) life

Why fiddle with words, Mr. Hrabal, why pick at the text, Mr. Paral




Raindrops falling on your window

Splattering on the glass like my vain attempts to seduce you

They´re trying to fall into your bed in vain….




Driven by my own emotion

Devoured by my conscience

Tossed about by thousands of worlds

Turned by my own passion

I´m wriggling in scorching heat

I´m bubbling in boiling heat

Condensing on the glass

Changing under hammer´s blows

Shaped with unknown hands…




Trying to paint a picture

Like a map of my soul

Points, lines and blots

Rough seas

There´s no more in it

Inapt hands…




The Sudet lands

All the objects on the ground around us

Images piled up by surged mists

You´re not allowed to watch that – no-one invited you

Ominous power of the dead below us

Thrilled mind drawn to the mystery

That´s nothing to think of now – life´s a preserve.

When He descended, all the traces were obliterated

Time has swallowed all the objects

He will choke soon – He was uninvited.

They believed in wild flower´s colourfulness

And loved the grasshoppers´ gallop

I can´t get bound to that – grief would just be left

When the evening left, the cold night ensued

Paintings from surged mists disappearing

That´s what I should watch – till they´re kept in shape…

About half the 370,000 test-takers completed the optional essay data at the first administration on sept.