FIONA SAMPSON

The Rapture

That pew pew’s a buzzard –
rags in wind,
its call throws down a line

of perfect pitch,
sweet and sharp,

plumb
through blue afternoon –
the way a salmon,
cooling itself,
               surrenders
to the rapid brace and flux
of water,

immersion wholly chosen
yet without desire,

as if to live were something straight
as this gaze –
                not hard hover
but dive –

eye and wing
one single muscle
beating through air

till both are snatched-up
in rapture:

leveret screaming
in the cup
             of claws –

a creature struggling
towards the light.

Svetlana Iuschievici

Fiona Sampson
 

Prada-extaz

Acel tipat este al uliului,
ruptura in vant,
chemarea lui traseaza

o aruncare perfecta,
tandra si precisa,

perfect verticala
strapungand dupa-amiaza albastra -
asa cum somonul,
ca sa se racoreasca,
           se abandoneaza
in imbratisarea rapida si in fluxul
           apei,

scufundare aleasa pe deplin
insa lipsita de intentie,

ca si cum a trai ar fi ceva linear
ca privitul in zare -
           nu o planare greoaie
ci un plonjeu -

ochi si aripa
un singur muschi
zbatandu-se in aer

pana ce amandoua sunt incaierate
in extaz:

iepurele urland
in caus
          de gheare-
o fiinta zbatandu-se
spre lumina.