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.

Dana Constantinescu

Brian Docherty

Panorama lumii

Plictisul imi rugineste gura, imi increteste limba.
Mancarea e mereu aceeasi; imi bifez zilele
In fuctie de meniul ce nu mi s-a oferit niciodata.
Suplimentele arata cine e de serviciu.

Imi adulmec trupul, scurgerile,
Legume fierte, piele tabacita si caini.
Cel care s-a spanzurat acu’ vreo 20 de mese este
Tot cu noi, un rotocol de var nestins.

Pielea-mi, hainele-mi, podeaua asta, peretii astia, sunt
Tot ce am atins prea mult timp.
O carte, piele de femeie, un pahar de vin, sunt
Lucruri la care am renuntat sa mai tanjesc.

Toata noaptea aud oameni gemand, tevi batand,
Tiruri si trenuri in departare.
Daca as avea un ceas, l-as fixa dupa ele. In
Zori se opresc o vreme.

Fereastra inalta e o camera subreda
Care incadreaza pasari, nori, zmee, avioane.
Oamenii nu-i vad decat prin
Fereastra incetosata a mintii.