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.

Elena-Raluca Nebunoiu

Fiona Sampson
 

Inaltarea la cer

Piuitul acela e un uliu—
zdrente in vant,
chemarea lui are
tonalitatea perfecta,
dulce si ascutita,
strabatand
dupa-amiaza albastra –
asa cum un somon
care se racoreste
se abandoneaza
fluxului rapid
al apei,
scufundare voita
dar fara de dorinta,
ca si cum viata ar fi ceva fix
precum aceasta privire –
nu planand deasupra prazii
ci plonjand –
ochi si aripa
un singur muschi
batand in aer
pana cand amandoi sunt inhatati
cu iuteala in aer:
iepurele tipa
in cupa
ghearelor –
o creatura ce se zbate
inspre lumina.