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

blinds me

burns after-images into my retinas like

secretive shots of god

and those towerblock houses

look just the same

just as insipid

and depressive

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

burn them

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

it all

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

withered tomorrows

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