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.

Corina Pascale

Fiona Sampson
 

Extaz

Acel tipat este al unui vultur
zdrente in vant,
tipatul lui lasa o dara
de o intensitate perfecta,
dulce si ascutit
perpendicular
prin dupa-amiaza albastra-
modul in care un somon,
ce se racoreste,
                 se preda
sariturii rapide si fluxului
de apa,
imersiune exclusiv aleasa
totusi fara dorinta
de parca a trai ar fi ceva direct
ca aceasta privire-
                nu planare
ci scufundare-
ochi si aripa
un singur muschi
batand prin aer
pana cand ambii sunt prinsi
in extaz
iepuras ce tipa
in prinsoarea
               ghearelor-
o creatura ce se zbate
catre lumina.