Three translated poems from 2013
i walk down a street
which goes on
and on and on and —
i’m going to see
a cluster of towerblock houses, it is
south of the city
the day is hot and the road is sweating
people are as naked as only they dare
of tanned legs and
soft middle bodies
greasy animal-skins sheathed in
how repulsive! i turn my eyes
towards the sun and it
burns after-images into my retinas like
secretive shots of god
and those towerblock houses
look just the same
just as insipid
as they should!
i just need to make sure.
as this time i only hold a one-way ticket
and this is the LAST time i see these buildings
these dirty windows and stained walls and rundown doorframes
and last times are always so stupidly sentimental
i look up at the third-floor window
from the other side of which i used to look out
write letters into the future to
over a green old trashcan
i used to hate everything.
and now i look and
i might not want to leave
it’s all quite beautiful.
i would like to write
say the un-sayable
and be purified
but there is so much dead blood
if i’d try to bleed it all into the paper
the letters would crush into each other claustrophobically
the signs would melt into a black mass
as unexplainable as an empty sheet
and inside me they grow
of desperate evenings
parasitize in empty nights and
fading glances shaking fingertips
slowly the ink stains all
“Tell me something about yourself.”
i dare not constrict myself into a hundred words
maybe afraid of remaining their prisoner.
i would like to define my wavelength
and send it somewhere in Sputnik’s lap
beyond the atmosphere —
my signal would echo in the un-dusted corners of space —
how great, being the epicentre of an intergalactic siren song?
and how megalomaniacal!
are the wavelengths of souls read as numbers?
are they sounds or memories or heartbeats?
i long for all the people
i’ve never met
and whose soul is like my soul
thin and hazy
but on the street the faces passing by
reflect the same life
perhaps the differences are not so great after-all