JOHN MOLE

The Skaters

'This tiny blue planet is home to something special - ourselves.’
Jeanette Winterson

The skaters at the Rockefeller Center
As they do each year
Have set iron to ice
In extended family chains
Or intimate links of coupledom,

And the patterns they make
Are the frequencies
Of a New York Christmas
Going out on the air
With this global message,

That love is tenacious,
That every warm breath
Which floats on the ether
Through clouded neon
Comes wreathed in its glow,

That because of their loss
They are ghosts already,
Though a hand in a glove
Or an arm round a waist
Will be what they remember,

And to vanish unloved
From this tiny blue planet,
This world of our making,
Its glory and error,
Is the worst that can happen.

So the skaters crowd in
To the Rockefeller Center,
The dead and the living
With willed affirmation,
A hesitant grace

As the ice-rink shines
In its diamond brightness
Unafraid of the cold night's
Towering shadows
And beyond the endless sky.

Cristina Florea

John Mole
 

Patinatorii

“Aceasta mica planeta albastra
e casa pentru ceva special – noi insine.”
Jeanette Winterson

Patinatorii de la Rockefeller Center,
asa cum fac in fiece an,
au transformat fierul in gheata,
in legaturi extinse de familie
sau relatii stranse de cuplu,

Iar tiparele pe care le formeaza
sunt ecourile
unui Craciun in New York
raspandindu-se in vazduh
cu acest mesaj global,

cum ca iubirea e tenace,
ca fiecare rasuflare calda
ce pluteste in eter,
prin neonul intunecat,
se unduieste in stralucirea ei,

ca din cauza pierderii lor,
ei acum devin fantasme,
desi o mana intr-o manusa
sau un brat in jurul mijlocului
va fi ceea ce-si vor aminti,

Iar sa te evapori fara a fi fost iubit
de pe aceasta mica planeta albastra,
aceasta lume transformata de noi,
cu gloria si greseala ei,
e lucrul cel mai rau care se poate intampla.

Asa ca patinatorii se aduna
la Rockefeller Center,
cei morti langa cei vii,
cu o afirmare hotarata,
o eleganta ezitanta,

in timp ce ringul de gheata luceste
cu stralucirea-i de diamant,
fara a-i fi teama de umbrele inalte
ale unei nopti reci,
chiar si dincolo de orizontul nesfarsit.