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.

Ana-Maria Purec

Brian Docherty

Perspectiva lumii

Plictiseala imi rugineste gura, imi zbarceste limba.
Mancarea nu variaza niciodata; imi marchez zilele
in functie de meniul ce nu mi-a fost oferit niciodata.
Suplimentul anunta cine e de serviciu.

Imi pot mirosi propriu corp, rigolele,
legumele fierte, piele si caini.
Barbatul care s-a spanzurat acum 20 de mese
este inca cu noi, o ghirlanda din var.

Pielea mea, hainele mele, aceasta podea, acesti pereti
sunt tot ce am atins eu prea mult timp.
O carte, pielea unei femei, un pahar de vin,
sunt lucruri la care am renuntat sa mai tanjesc.

Toata noaptea aud barbati suspinand, tevi lovindu-se,
vagoane si trenuri in departare.
Daca as avea un ceas, l-as fixa dupa ele.
Dimineata ele se opresc un pic.

Fereastra inalta este ca un aparat de fotografiat
care incadreaza pasari, nori, zmeie, avioane.
Niciodata nu vad alti oameni, cu exceptia
oglinzii afumate a memoriei.