OK, so the next time I had a break to read (while running off some photocopies, of course), I came to the next poem in the collection of Slovak poems:
The soul we call
what can't be seen from the body.
As if man carried in him the cave
where his far-off ancestors dwelt.
And the spirit is a spectre
which rises in this dark.
That's how we help ourselves.
The poet is Ján Buzássy.
Om Kreem Kalyai Namaha,