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.

Alina Olimpia Miron

Fiona Sampson
 

Extazul

Acel piu piu e un barzaune-
Zdrente-n vant,
Strigatul lui de o perfectiune acuta,
Dulce si ascutita,
Plumb
In dupa-amiaza albastra,
Cum un somon,
Racorindu-se
Se abandoneaza bratului si fluxului de apa,
Scufundare de sine,
Totusi fara dorinta,
Ca si cum a trai e ceva clar,
Precum privirea sa
Nu planare amenintatoare,
Ci aruncare
Ochi si aripa
Un singur muschi
Zbatandu-se in aer
Pana amandoua sunt rapite de extaz
Iepuras tipand,
In prinsoarea ghearelor,
O creatura zbatandu-se sa ajunga la lumina.