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.

Liviu Martinescu

Brian Docherty

O viziune asupra vietii

Mi-e coclita gura de plictis, limba ca o frunza.
Acelasi menu in fiecare zi: bifez zilele
cu feluri de mancare care n-au sosit.
Suplimentele anunta cine e de serviciu.

Imi miros corpul, sevele iesite,
legumele fierte, pielea de curea, cainii.
Omul spanzurat cu 20 de mese in urma
e tot aici, coronita de var nestins.

Pielea mea, hainele, podeaua, peretii –
numai pe ele le-am atins de-o vesnicie.
O carte, pielea unei femei,un pahar de vin –
la astea am renuntat sa poftesc.

Noaptea toata gem oameni, se ciocnesc tevi,
camioane si trenuri in departare.
Sa am ceas, l-as potrivi dupa ele.La
primii zori se opresc nitel.

Fereastra inalta e un jeg de aparat de filmat
ce prinde pasari, nori, zmee, avioane.
Nu vad niciodata alti oameni decat
prin sticla pacloasa a memoriei.