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.

Violeta Mitu

Brian Docherty

Vedere spre viata

Mi-e gura ruginita de plictis, limba mi s-a-ncretit.
Mananc mereu acelasi lucru ; marchez zilele
dupa meniul care nu mi s-a oferit vreodata.
Suplimentele imi dau de stire cine e de serviciu.

Simt mirosul propriului meu trup, al canalizarii,
miros de legume fierte, de piele si caini.
Barbatul care s-a spanzurat cu 20 de mese-n urma
e inca aici, o coroana de var nestins.

Pielea mea, hainele mele, podeaua si aceste ziduri sunt
tot ce am atins de prea mult timp.
Am renuntat demult sa mai tanjesc
dupa o carte, o femeie si un pahar de vin.

Cat e de lunga noaptea se-aud barbati gemand, batai in teava,
camioane si trenuri ce huruie in departare.
Dac-as avea un ceas, mi l-as potrivi dupa ele. In
zori toate acestea se opresc pentru o vreme.

Fereastra de sus e o camera foto ce prinde-n unghiuri strambe
pasari, nori, zmee, avioane.
Nu vad niciodata alti oameni, decat
in oglinda fumurie a memoriei.