Brian Docherty

World View

Boredom rusts my mouth, shrivels my tongue.
The food never varies; I mark off my days
by the menu I have never been offered.
The supplements announce who is on duty.

I can smell my own body, the drains,
boiled vegetables, leather and dogs.
The man who hung himself 20 meals ago is
still with us, a wreath of quicklime.

My skin, my clothes, this floor, these walls, are
all I have touched for too long.
A book, a woman’s skin, a glass of wine, are
things I have given up longing for.

All night I hear men moaning, pipes banging,
lorries and trains in the distance.
If I had a watch, I could set it by them. In
the early hours they stop for a while.

The high window is a wonky camera
framing birds, clouds, kites, planes.
I never see other people except through
the smoky mirror of memory.

Steliana Palade

Brian Docherty

Lumea prin ochii mei

Plictiseala imi naclaieste gura, imi zbarceste limba.
Mancarea-i mereu aceeasi; insemnez trecerea zilelor
dupa meniul pe care nu-l primesc niciodata.
Marimea portiilor imi da de veste cine-i de serviciu.

Simt exalatiile propriului trup, al scrugerilor,
al legumelor fierte, al pielii tabacite si a cainilor.
Barbatul care s-a spanzurat acum 20 de mese
e inca aici, o coroana de var nestins.

Pielea mea, hainele, podeaua asta, peretii astia,
sunt tot ce-am atins de mult prea mult timp.
O carte, pielea unei femei, un pahar de vin,
sunt lucruri la care am renuntat sa mai tanjesc.

Toata noaptea aud barbatii gemand, bataile in tevi,
camioanele si trenurile care trec in departare.
Dac-as avea ceas, mi l-as putea potrivi dupa mersul lor.
Cand se apropie zorile, zgomotele inceteaza.

Ferestruica inalta este ca un aparat de fotografiat ca vai de lume
ce incadreaza pasari, nori, zmee, avioane.
Nu vad niciodata alti oameni, decat
in oglinda cetoasa a amintirilor.