Potem pa ne misli na lisjaka, ki teče okrog skednja,
je predlagal, majhnega rdečega lisjaka,
ki visoko stopa po travi v svinčeno sivi senci
srebrnosivega skednja, nekega omamno žarečega dne,
ko so žuželke omotične in lenobne.
Cele dneve sem mislil samo na
tega lisjaka - ponoči me je strašno premetavalo
na gromozanski igralni plošči.
In moje drobno telesce je bilo svetilnik bolečine.
In napolnilo se je z zlohotno, rdečo vročico, pred katero
me niso odrešile niti pobrvanke, ki so mi jih prinesli.
Toda ko zdaj pomislim na lisjaka, ne teče več okrog skednja,
stoji popolnoma mirno, s šapo dvignjeno nad travo,
v dolgem temačnem snopu sence. Niti trzne ne.
Bolečina je zaklenjena v skednju.
iz angleščine prevedel Igor Divjak
Then don't think about a fox running around a barn,
he suggested, a small red fox
highstepping through the grass in the dark-grey shade
of a light-grey barn, the day stunningly bright,
the insects stunned and idling.
For days I thought of nothing
but this fox --- at night I was horribly buffeted
on an immense game board.
And my little body was a lighthouse of pain.
And it filled with a mean, red heat that was not relieved
by the coloring books delivered to me.
But when I think of this fox now, he does not run around the barn,
he stands utterly still, with one paw raised above the grass,
in a long dark swath of shade. He does not move at all.
Pain is locked away in the barn.
