Monkey and goose
Snake and bull
And their friend Tiger Lou
Met at hummingbird's garden
For an afternoon's tea for two

In hummingbird's garden
Raised the most  precious flowers
Be they red or blue , pink or white
To all that viewed
It was a dazzling sight

Somewhere between succulent sips
The question of God's existence
Became more than a quip
Where is it that God can be found ?
Is he here upon Earth or some holiest ground ?

Then goose said , "I will fly across this land .
My wings are strong and
When it comes to tiring , I have no end .
From high away I can see . So please ,
For certain , I am the one to send ."

Monkey said ,"I can swing from
Tree to tree all day long .
So high that I can see
Every aspect of the land .
So if anyone goes , let it be me ."

Snake said ,"I will slither , I will crawl
Across the swamp , across the bog .
If this God exists , surely
I will be the one
To bring back a certainty ."

Bull steps in as to be not excluded
"I will cross the plains from end to end .
I will search from dawn to dawn .
If there be such a place
It will be found by me on Earth's green lawn ."

Tiger Lou steps up with a growl
"I will go searching in the fields of rice .
I will go where the sugarcane grows .
I will not stop , so cast my lot .
When I come back , it will be told ."

Then they left , each in a separate way
And they would be gone for many a day
But then there came the day to pass Goose and Monkey , snake and bull and Tiger Lou
Met at hummingbird's with finished task

Goose said "I have found God !
And I know the only way ."
"Say Hey !" said the monkey,"For you are all wrong !
Through the woods have I found God !
It's through the woods all day long ."

"Nay !" snake had to say ,"I found God
And only I know the way .
Across the swamp , I'm here to state
Is the only way to him .
Anything else is tempting fate ."

Bull bellows most loudly of all
"You fools , I have searched for days and days . It's across the fields of grass
That you must go to God . And by the way ,
All of your remarks are so crass ."

Tiger Lou darkened his eyes
"Idiots ! The devil has fooled you all .
If you seek God  , I and only I know the way .
To show you let me say .
So apologize or step back away ."

Then there was a vicious roar
Monkey strangled goose , snake bit monkey's knee
Tiger bit snake in half , then bull flung Tiger
High into the sky , breaking his back with a Crack
Bull burst his heart with such strength , and didn't linger

Hummingbird in her garden was saddened
Began humming and humming a song
The song turned into a chant that flew to heaven
Where God was and is today
Waiting for searching souls that he will never abandon

Monkey , goose , bull , snake , and Lou
Before God stood , looking blue
"Have you fools anything to say ?"
But only silence crossed their lips
"Listen closely to what I have to say."

"Only I know the way .
Only I , for I am the way .
Only through me can there be a way .
And only by my gift of salvation
Can you stay ."

I was the oldest of four, I'd had friends, a happy family, a warm house to come home to after a long day at school. That was before my parents had started to disagree on things.

Before our home became cold, just a house full of tension, no longer a place I wanted to be. The disagreements, became arguments, that became fights.
My parents became paper tigers, clawing at each other, but never hurting themselves just those around them.
Paper cuts so deep they bled.
I'd patch up my siblings with colorful band aids, the Blue’s Clues ones from the top shelf of the medicine cabinet, I could only reach with the step stool.
I stopped playing with my friends in favor of entertaining my siblings so they didn't have to hear the yelling, so they didn't have to grow up as I had: in a matter of days.
I made up games for them to play in our basement bedroom, catching cave crickets, like dreams, we'd lose sight of more often than not. And some nights, after everyone was supposed to be asleep, I'd creep up the stairs, to the second floor feeling as though I was ascending into hell instead of heaven, to check if my parents were asleep.
They never were, pale light seeping from under the door along with whispered roars, words I wasn't allowed to say. Sometimes I'd sit for hours at the top of the stairs, watching the tiger shadows fight on the carpet.

Time passed, the days filled with Blue’s Clues covered paper cuts, the nights with tiger silhouettes. Nothing really changed except the way my mother smelled. I noticed it when she hugged me before sending me off to school in the mornings. She no longer smelled like home cooked meals and bright smiles, but tears and hollow hate. We left soon after that, my mother, my siblings, and I. She packed only what was necessary and forbade us to tell anyone what we were really doing: Disappearing. Our cousin, helped us get our few things to the bus station, where we waited for what seemed to be just short of eternity.
The big Greyhound bus inched over the hill in slow motion, a giant silver slug, coming to take us away. I helped load our bags into the bottom of the bus, and as I turned back toward the platform, I saw my mother hoist my youngest sister up on her hip, my brother and other sister falling in line behind her, the way she's taught us. I smiled because what I was really seeing was a tiger, no longer made of paper, gathering her cubs and preparing them for the long journey ahead.
Late that night on the bus, my sisters and brother already fast asleep, I asked my mother where we were going. She asked if I trusted her, a thing she did if she couldn't tell us something. I nodded yes and sat back in my seat, soon falling asleep to the breathing of my sister seated beside me.

I dreamed of paper tigers.

I was the oldest of four; I'd had friends, a happy family, and a warm house to come home to after a long day at school. That was before my parents had started to disagree on things.

Before our home became cold, just a house full of tension, no longer a place I wanted to be. The disagreements became arguments that became fights.
My parents became paper tigers, ethereal imitations of the ones in the zoo; clawing at each other, but never hurting themselves just those around them.
Paper cuts so deep they bled.
I'd patch up my siblings with colorful band aids, the Blue’s Clues ones from the top shelf of the medicine cabinet, only I could reach with the step stool.
I stopped playing with my friends in favor of entertaining my siblings so they didn't have to hear the yelling, so they didn't have to grow up as I had: in a matter of days.
I made up games for them to play in our basement bedroom, catching cave crickets, like dreams, that we'd lose sight of more often than not. And some nights, after everyone was supposed to be asleep, I'd creep up the stairs, to the second floor feeling as though I was ascending into hell instead of heaven, to check if my parents were asleep.
They never were, pale light seeping from under the door along with whispered roars, words I wasn't allowed to say. Sometimes I'd sit for hours at the top of the stairs, watching the tiger shadows fight on the carpet.

Time passed, the days filled with Blue’s Clues covered paper cuts, the nights with tiger silhouettes. Nothing really changed except the way my mother smelled. I noticed it when she hugged me before sending me off to school in the mornings. She no longer smelled like home cooked meals and bright smiles, but tears and hollow hate. We left soon after that, my mother, my siblings, and I. She packed only what was necessary and forbade us to tell anyone what we were really doing: Disappearing. Our cousin, helped us get our few things to the bus station, where we waited for what seemed to be just short of eternity.
The big Greyhound bus inched over the hill in slow motion, a giant silver slug, coming to take us away. I helped load our bags into the bottom of the bus, and as I turned back toward the platform, I saw my mother hoist my youngest sister up on her hip, my brother and other sister falling in line behind her, the way she's taught us. I smiled because what I was really seeing was a tiger, no longer made of paper, gathering her cubs and preparing them for the long journey ahead.
Late that night on the bus, my sisters and brother already fast asleep, I asked my mother where we were going. She asked if I trusted her, a thing she did if she couldn't tell us something. I nodded yes and sat back in my seat, soon falling asleep to the breathing of my sister seated beside me and the promise of troubled imaginings.

I dreamed of paper tigers.

the others didn’t like him
his markings were different
his stripes were too bright
he’d been places
seen things
and he understood them better than they understood themselves
he had the scars of life experience
and he wore them with pride
having travelled to the darkest corners of the jungle
living wonders and horrors
they could only imagine
from the confines of their pen
so shallow and so rigid
he was a dangerous reminder of all they were not
maybe they were just sheep after all
he came with a  sense of danger
and they came with the scent of fear
he could smell it on them
he was a tiger
and they were all lambs
and the lambs had nothing for him
but they bleated as if they knew better
and they hid within their herds
the way cowards always do
because that was all they knew
safety in numbers
the company of the crowd
they would never know what it took to be a tiger
to walk alone in the wilderness
to swim up river with his big padded paws
there was a great strength in his solitude
but they knew very little
of either
strength or solitude
plus the sheep had no style
so they hated him for his
in fact the tiger had more style in one paw
than all of them put together
he peered into the pen
briefly licking his teeth
but it looked so empty in there
that’s when he realised
that the crowd was a just another prison
and so was the herd
just an empty pen
full of empty people
living and dying their empty little lives
he would lose his freedom by joining them
he would sacrifice his stripes
no longer king of the jungle
they would sedate him and put him on display
in a petting zoo
until he was no more a tiger than they were
just a trophy on a shelf
for the dumb public to come and take pictures with
and he would sit there
wishing he could disappear
his eyes blinded by flash photography
his wild spirit destroyed
the very essence of him gone
and they would keep him
until he lost all his colour
and then they would lose interest
in the tiger they had tamed
in the trophy they had spoiled
no
this was no life for a tiger
no place for him to live
no company to keep
the sheep had nothing for him
except for the prison sentence
of their acceptance
he was better off alone
back in the wilderness
where he belonged
out in the jungle
where he could prowl freely
without judgement of his stripes

Gregor Strniša (1930-1987)
THERE WAS A TIGER HERE    

I
A bright spring rain fell the day through,
the branches drip, the sand in the lanes is damp yet,
the sky has cleared, slowly you go through the park,
the sun of evening haunts it, apparition-like.

In the illumined peak of the dark tree,
a blackbird sings and sings. The evening’s very quiet,
the sunlight turns wine red,  
and on the lawn shimmers a bronze monument.

Just then you find, in the wet ground before you,
the wide and clear and deep impressions.
The park is big, sun-striped, and full of shadows.
You start, go on, but  know: a tiger came this way.

II

You still remember well the day
when first you saw the tiger’s trail.
You had just woken and there it was.
Morning was like evening, full of shadows.

That was oh so long ago.
The night of that morning you lay alert in the dark,
then fell into a mazy sleep, like gazing out a window
and beyond it softly snows and will not stop.

You live as if not much had changed, really.
Soon after that morning, autumn came,
then we had the long, damp winter,
and wet snow covered a dark city.

III

You sit, elbows on table, you look out the window.
It is late afternoon, soon to be dusk.
Not a sound will come into the room now.
You think how outside the winter day is fading.

You see just a piece of the sky and a roof. It is red.
Likely the snow slid from it in the noontime sun.
In the last of light, the chimney casts a feeble shadow.
Evening will be leadblue, you think, and a little foggy.

You go to the window. A woman in white walks in the street.
Across the way a child plays in the sand.
A summer day flickers in the darkling trees.
Like a great, shimmering cloud, fades the summer day.

IV

Maybe not much has changed, at all.
Only in rooms where once you were already,
you fail to find a favorite picture on a wall,
now there’s only a pale rectangle there.

More and more often on your familiar routes,
tall, dusty horsemen cross your path.
Places you walked in day after day,
bronze, heavy monuments suddenly occupy.

And sometimes, entering a familiar house,
you find yourself in cellars stale and squat.
They were not there before, and huge snarling dogs
are tearing at their chains outside in the gardens.

V

So you live, you’re always off to distant places,
down foggy seas, up snowy mountain ranges,
you see so many new, so many foreign cities,
in whose small, quiet squares you love to sit.

There on the smooth pavement, from time to time,
Dark, broad stripes stand out in the slanting sun.
You find a stone, you weigh it in your palm,
you murmur absently, “There was a tiger here.”

But him himself you haven’t met yet.
Whomever the tiger looks at soon dies.
Always he pads before you through summer’s dark door,
Through foggy rooms under decembered skies.
(translated from the Slovenian by Tom Ložar)

Tiger, Tiger they all called him.
Faces marked with smiles grim.
Office buzzed with word tiger, tiger.
He was one but many they were.

Full day continued insincere flattery.
End of month 'twas, day for salary.
Then story took melodramatic turn.
Like tiger he moved, demeanor stern.

Outright he announced party that night.
Everyone attended in clothes bright.
They gossiped, danced and dined.
Happily they all boozed and wined.

He sat like a tiger circled by coterie;
And the total bill was half the salary.
I looked through magnifying glass;
And saw pack of wolves and an ***.

"The Struggle for Love"
"The Longing for Home"
So desperate to prove
That our hearts aren't alone

While death looms wherewith
To make dust of our flesh
We seek in a myth
Our souls to enmesh

With a hero of hope
A rescuing source
To widen our scope
And give pith to our course

An unshakable tie
An attachment at core
Which might silence the cry
That our hearts are at war

With a pure set of eyes
Full of fire and proficient
To dispel all the lies
That our souls aren't deficient

But it's not our mere lack
Which causes most dread
It's the earth-shattering fact
That our spirits are dead

Cut off from their Source
In a black alienation
Humanity's curse
For its rank ins'bordination

We just want our own way
And to write our own story
So we plunge on astray
To seek our own glory

To play artist or muse
Or idol or chief
Any self-styled ruse
To assuage us of grief

Any measure to show
A lasting signif'cance
So that someone would know
Our unique magnif'cence

For our beauty's been marred
And we crave a redemption
Of souls twisted and scarred
By fulfillment's exemption

But, alas, we will find
That search hard as we may
There's not one of our kind
Who can carry the tray

Upon which the weight
Of our souls has been laid
For who can e'er tolerate
Its gross debts unpaid?

Such suff'cating mass
Of defects and ills
Pressed 'gainst delicate glass
Of egos and wills

Still more ghastly to bear
Is devotion unbound
For with millstone to wear
Its master is drowned

'Neath a sea of foul yeast
And becomes the enslaved
To a hungering beast
To a worship depraved

For the heart is a tiger
And must have its fill
So it raises a man higher
With a kiss before the ****

Not intentionally, of course,
Does it slaughter its idol
But of hurricane force
Is this longing so vital

And as pedestal turns
So quickly to altar
Our wounded pride burns
When our gods and alms falter

And the fire of its rage
Turns upon its obsession
Tiger breaks out of cage
To reclaim self-possession

It bites and it tears
What it once so adored
And pride no longer cares
If it kills its false lord

But upon such demise
The soul screams in terror
For it's broken its prize
And can't take back its error

It begs and it pleads
To restore what's been lost
But at end knows it needs
To consider the cost

Of the damage untold
It has left in the wake
For hearts can't be controlled
With a gush or a shake

No, men's hearts are like bombs
Which so easily explode
Once the pin is removed
All past wrongs will re-load

So the prey becomes hunter
When the tiger attacks
For he does not want her
To see what he lacks

As he, too, had put
Her up in wrong place
But now steps his foot
Upon her shamed face

To now pulverize
As his own heart's been crushed
To blind out her eyes
And to see her lips hushed

For with words idly spoken
She'd stabbed at his soul
And had left his pride broken
By her judgments so cold

She had not meant to harm
Knew not e'en that he heard
But one cannot disarm
A thought put to word

Worse than not knowing this
She no longer knew him
And her once imagined bliss
Proved a nullified whim

Oh, what games and delusions
We play and we build
Upon empty illusions
And dreams unfulfilled

Yet strangely it's when
Our worst fears come true
We can finally transcend
All those old tales we grew

Out of ego and void
Out of sorrow and pain
When our nerves felt annoyed
And our hearts felt too vain

'Cause when ego is puffed
It is primed, too, to pop
And with pinprick is snuffed
Like a pest-blighted crop

So imagine much more
When a venom's injected
Right into its core
And its heart is rejected

But can you also not see
How it needs such a burst
To begin to get free
From its self-absorbed curse?

Except now feels the matter
Of our soul's isolation
Fiercer still with the shatter
Of our pet consolation

So we wait and we wonder
If we've missed the true meaning
Of the frightening thunder
In our heart's constant screaming

Whether homesick or lost
Whether lonely or grieved
Locked in bleak Winter's frost
We find little reprieve

Yet we know we've been made
For the glory of Spring
Some card's still to be played
Some grand song still to sing

Inexpressible yearning
For some secret we know
But can't speak for the burning
Repercussions of woe

Not some mere melancholy
Nor nostalgic forlorn
Not the musings of folly
But a sense that we're torn

From primordial root
And from headwaters fresh
Yet much deeper to boot
From our spiritual breath

'Tis an ache not for wares,
Appreciation or fame
But a fight just for air
Against strangling shame

For we're naked, we know
And with all we devise
Our most flawed parts still show
To a pure set of eyes

Like we're walking around
With no covering intact
But thin hospital gown
With wide split up the back

So we hide our true face
Aim to be what we're not
Work our blots to erase
Lest our schemes should be caught

Be 't by friend or by foe
We dare not risk the pain
Of humiliation's blow
On top of our stain

But instead of relief
Anguish grows louder till
This life's loneliest grief
Paralyzes the will

And last hope all but dies
On doubt's bed of despair
While embittered heart cries
That its lot's too unfair

Yet on outside we play
Through our unconscious mind
Man's collective charade
That everything's fine

Like some pact we'd all sworn
To uphold and obey
To protect from the scorn
Of society's sway

If we run with the flow
'Stead of strive 'gainst the tide
We might make enough show
To salvage our pride

We forget that conceit
Is what caused all the mess
Through a serpent's deceit
And a couple's wrong guess

'Twas they first tasted shame
And then hid in a garden
Sewing fig leaves as claim
To secure their own pardon

Yet in horror they knew
They had squandered the Prize
And must flee from the view
Of a pure set of eyes

Now same state of awry
Runs through each of their seed
Inborn and borne by
Like the thorniest ****

Whose nettles pierce deep
And infect every part
While roots tangle and sweep
Through the mind and the heart

It mocks what we've lost
Torments every dim hope
To constrict and accost
Like a noose-tightening rope

Still, hope won't be decayed
Smold'ring fires yet burn
Sparking hints that we're made
For bright Eden's return

This redemption we crave
Is no phantom's false plea
But as crestfallen wave
Hides itself in the sea

It's been veiled in plain sight
Big as all of our stories
Deep as mankind's full plight
And as high as its glories

Cloaked in every ambition
That we have to get in
To some exclusive coalition
For its favors to win

Lurks a bleeding predilection
Frustrated from birth
A desire for election
To bestow on us worth

Lured by scent of a promise
To be chosen and known
Like the warmth of a mom's kiss
Given only to her own

We search tree after tree
For sweet intimacy's nectar
From a fruit that will be
Our secret connecter

To hope's nourishing breast
To life's honey from comb
To an undying rest
To a straight way toward home

One to wipe away tears
And allay deepest doubt
Which proceeds from worst fears
Of our being locked out

Of a garden again
Cast from pure tree of life
Dim remembrance of when
Mankind first entered strife

All our conflicts, comp'tition,
Confusion and blame
Find first cause in perdition
That's invaded our frame

Like the foulest disease
The most cankerous rot
Grown by monstrous degrees
Hatched by Lucifer's plot

This story's no ****'s attack
Nor archaic folklore
But the earth-shattering fact
That our hearts are at war

With a pure set of eyes
Full of fire and proficient
To dispel all the lies
That our souls aren't deficient

And it's not our mere lack
which causes most dread
But the earth-shattering fact
That our spirits are dead

Cut off from their Source
In a black alienation
Humanity's curse
For it's rank ins'bordination


And yet...


This is also the story
Of how those same eyes
The Possessor of Glory
Looked with love and heart cries

On the crown of creation
His reflection of Self
Made His own treasured nation
The heirs of His wealth

Now broken and lost
All banished from Garden
And He knew the full cost
To grant them His pardon

Had known long before
He had e'er even made
That first man of yore
Yet handcrafts anyway

For His love is so strong
And He wanted to share
His intimacy with a throng
His own children to bear

So with souls in convulsion
From their rebellious misdeed
Just before their expulsion
He promised a Seed

One untainted from sin
Who could take its great boulder
And the weight of His kin
Upon His own shoulder

A Hero of hope
A rescuing Source
To widen our scope
And give pith to our course

An unshakable tie
An attachment at core
Who would silence the cry
That our hearts are at war

With a pure set of eyes
Full of fire and proficient
To dispel all the lies
That our souls aren't deficient

For those eyes are His own
And He'd pay the full fee
By His body alone
To set our hearts free

He's hope's nourishing breast
He's life's honey from comb
He's our undying rest
He's our straight way toward home

He will wipe away tears
And allay deepest doubt
Which proceeds from worst fears
Of our being locked out

Of the Garden again
Cast from pure Tree of Life
Dim remembrance of when
Mankind first entered strife

But 'twas on another tree
That sweet intimacy's nectar
Was secured tight when He
Became sacred Connector

And the thorns of our curse
Were pressed onto His head
With not one there to nurse
As the Son of Man bled

Then the wrath for our sin
Was absorbed as He cried
And the foul curse was broken
When the Son of God died

But death couldn't keep Him long
Nor His glory dispose
And we found our lost song
When the King of kings rose!

The debt had been paid
He had finished the work
The tide 'gainst us was swayed
We weren't left in our lurk

And we've only to now
Just repent and believe
To open and allow
Our hearts to receive

Our Divine Fountainhead
Our covering complete
To sup from His bread
And to sit at His feet

To worship the One
For Whom we were made
By Whom we've been won
Whom forever we've craved

The One Who can bear
Our hearts' full devotion
The One Who won't tear
At our souls' raw emotion

The One Who will be
Sweet eternity's song
Who with lasting decree
Will...right...every...wrong

The kaleidoscopic view one perceives,
the material world (and its proclivities)
is the architecture of five senses,
along with the juggler, cognitive mind.

Beyond the shores of the river,
frothing, foaming, flowing mind,
sits the tiger, eyes glowing,
infinite, cosmic consciousness,
ready to eat every illusory construct,
liberate, self and proclaim
"There are no two, everything in cosmos is one"

The benevolent tiger watches the space,
we think real,
                       its eyes unblinking, waiting,
for the igneous moment of merging
sitting beyond the other shore of mind,
it wordlessly assert,"Time is imagined"

Enlightenment, the door to
transcendence  opens
only beyond the realm of time
When the tiger leaps across
and makes its ****,
the door to eternal light is opened,

The tiger is deaf to pleas and demands,
this hunter hunts preys of his choice,
at that moment of alchemy,
the tiger will appear from nowhere,
as savior, obliterator of illusions.
He enters through the door,
of silver morning light.

My name is Tom Lozar. This is my translation of a poem by the Slovenian poet, Gregor Strnisa.

There was a tiger here

I
A bright spring rain fell the day through,
the branches drip, the sand in the lanes is damp yet,
the sky has cleared, slowly you go through the park,
the sun of evening haunts it, apparition-like.

In the illumined peak of the dark tree,
a blackbird sings and sings. The evening’s very quiet,
the sunlight turns wine-red,  
and on the lawn shimmers a bronze monument.

Just then you find, in the wet ground before you,
the wide and clear and deep impressions.
The park is big, sun-striped, and full of shadows.
You start, go on, but  know: a tiger came this way.

II

You still remember well the day
when first you saw the tiger’s trail.
You had just woken and there it was.
Morning was like evening, full of shadows.

That was oh so long ago.
The night of that morning you lay alert in the dark,
then fell into a mazy sleep, like gazing out a window
and beyond it softly snows and will not stop.

You live as if not much had changed, really.
Soon after that morning, autumn came,
then we had the long, the damp winter,
and wet snow covered a dark city.

III

You sit, elbows on table, you look out the window.
It is late afternoon, soon to be dusk.
Not a sound will come into the room now.
You think how outside the winter day is fading.

You see just a piece of the sky and a roof. It is red.
Likely the snow slid from it in the noontime sun.
In the last of light, the chimney casts a feeble shadow.
Evening will be leadblue, you think, and a little foggy.

You go to the window. A woman in white walks in the street.
Across the way a child plays in the sand.
A summer day flickers in the darkling trees.
Like a great, shimmering cloud, fades the summer day.

IV

Maybe not much has changed, at all.
Only in rooms where once you were already,
you fail to find a favorite picture on a wall,
now there’s only a pale rectangle there.

More and more often on your familiar routes,
tall, dusty horsemen cross your path.
Places you walked in day after day,
bronze, heavy monuments suddenly occupy.

And sometimes, entering a familiar house,
you find yourself in cellars stale and squat.
They were not there before, and huge snarling dogs
are tearing at their chains outside in the gardens.

V

So you live, you’re always off to distant places,
down foggy seas, up snowy mountain ranges,
you see so many new, so many foreign cities,
in whose small, quiet squares you love to sit.

There on the smooth pavement, from time to time,
Dark, broad stripes stand out in the slanting sun.
You find a stone, you weigh it in your palm,
you murmur absently, “There was a tiger here.”

But him himself you haven’t met yet.
Whomever the tiger looks at soon dies.
Always he pads before you through summer’s dark door,
Through foggy rooms under decembered skies.