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.

Andreea Hadambu

Brian Docherty

Vedere asupra lumii

Plictisul mi se depune ca o rugina pe buze, imi usuca limba.
Mancarea e mereu la fel; zilele mele se disting
dupa meniurile care nu mi-au fost niciodata oferite.
Suplimentele nutritive vestesc cine e de serviciu.

Imi adulmec propriul trup, canalele de scurgere,
legumele fierte, hainele de piele si pe caini.
Omul care s-a spanzurat in urma cu 20 de pranzuri
e inca printre noi, un rotocol de var nestins.

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

Toata noaptea aud barbati gemand, lovituri in tevi,
camioane si trenuri huruind in departare.
Daca as avea un ceas, l-as fixa dupa ritmul lor.
In zori, inceteaza cateva ore.

Geamul de sus e un aparat foto stramb,
care cadreaza pasari, nori, zmei, avioane.
Nu vad niciodata alti oameni,
decat filtrati prin oglinda fumurie a memoriei.