Poems

Hit Title Date Added
1.
Asbestos
So, as a child, you say?
You jumped,
and the pile of Eternit cracked?
Blue sneakers, white chrysotile.
...
2.
The Butterfly of no return
‘again' is a big word.
slowly and quickly
again

again men rejoice on the radio
...
3.
A Brief history of art
In the hot garden of the Peggy
Guggenheim Museum in Venice
stands a sculpture by Anish Kapoor,
a dark grey granite block.
...
4.
A Long and sexy ending (A Short ride in a fast machine)
A small plane rises
to the optimal altitude,
the stewardess brings coffee.
A faint crack is heard
...
5.
An old lover
I'll go to the other hall
only for drinks, of course.
Oh, isn't that -! Oh, hello.
I observe his eyes, his neck,
...
6.
Come into my cave, Matter!
On the manor house clad in scaffolding,
a flag is waving like a rag.
A national flag. Torn and shabby,
it doesn't care which nation it belongs to.
...
7.
The dogs of athens
In Pláka, around the Acropolis,
not to mention elsewhere,
multitudes stroll and sleep.
Big dogs. Gentle, polite.
...
8.
DOONOR
Väikeses raamatupoes
supermarketi katuse all
kinki otsides
tuli tagasi loll komme kiskuda
hammastega küünte ümbert nahka.
Võtsin kätte ungari luule antoloogia
ja rebisin parema pöidla verele.
Poleks nii ohtrat sadu arvanud,
aga Sandor Weöresi pildile
jäi jäme punane jälg.
Kohkusin, panin raamatu käest
ja võtsin kiiresti teise. Mihhail Lotmani
'Pistriku talvekarje'. Brodsky tekstile
jätsin tänutäheks laia läraka.
Mõned raamatud olid mul olemas,
näiteks Bourdieu ja Geertz,
ja Huizinga Akadeemias ja Sartre
vanas Loomingu Raamatukogus.
Aga kõigile neile tahtsin ma jätta mälestust.
Must, valge ja punane. Punane, valge ja must.
Nagu mõne Aasia riigi lipp.
Siis mõtlesin, miks mitte märgistada ka jutukaid,
sest verd mul jätkus ja kade ma polnud.
Hingestatud, verised näod.
Ühel hetkel näis, et müüja nohiseb.
Mulle meenus kingitus,
ja nii ma lahkusin,
oma vere eest tasu nõudmata.
Selle vähese vere valasin ma kultuuri eest.
Aga oleksin valanud ehk rohkem,
kui oleks palutud.
...
9.
THE DONOR
In a small bookstore
under the roof of a shopping mall,
looking for a gift,
I resorted to the silly habit
of tearing off the cuticles
around my fingernails with my teeth.
When I took down an anthology
of Hungarian poetry from the shelf
my right thumb started bleeding.
I didn't expect such a heavy flow:
over the photo of Sandor Weöres
a rich red mark was left.
Startled, I put the book back
and quickly took down another. A Hawk's Winter Cry
by Mikhail Lotman. On a volume by Joseph Brodsky
I left a grateful plump stain.
I had some books at home:
Bourdieu, Geertz, Huizinga.
But I wanted to leave a souvenir on each of them.
Black, white and red. Red, white and black.
Like the flags of some Asian countries.
Then I thought, why not mark the romances,
crime stories, fantasy fiction, too? I had
plenty of blood to give and didn't feel stingy.
All those intense faces with blood on them.
At one point the saleswoman seemed to mumble.
I remembered I still had to buy a gift,
and I left without asking for any recompense for my blood.
This is the bit of blood I've shed for culture.
Perhaps I would have shed more, though, if I had been asked.
...
10.
IL DONATORE
In una piccola libreria
di un centro commerciale
cercando un regalo
è tornato il vecchio vizio
di strappare con i denti le cuticole intorno alle unghie.
Ho preso l'antologia della poesia ungherese,
mentre il sangue cominciava ad uscirmi dal pollice destro.
Non aspettavo una tal pioggia,
ma sulla foto di Sandor Weöres
ho lasciato una grossa macchia rossa.
Spaventato/a, ho rimesso a posto il libro,
ne ho preso un altro. 'Il grido invernale del falco'
di Mikhail Lotman. Sul testo di Brodsky
ho lasciato una pozzanghera di gratitudine.
Avevo già a casa alcuni libri:
Bourdieu e Geertz,
Huizinga e Sartre.
Ma volevo lasciare a tutti un souvenir.
Nero, bianco e rosso. Rosso, bianco e nero.
Come una bandiera di qualche stato dell'Asia.
Poi ho pensato: perché non marcare anche i romanzi rosa?
Avevo tanto sangue e non sono avara.
Facce ispirate e sanguigne.
Ad un certo punto la commessa ha iniziato a tossire.
Mi sono ricordata/o del regalo
e sono uscita/o,
non chiedendo compenso per il sangue.
Poco sangue versato per la cultura.
Magari però ne avrei versato di più,
se me l'avessero chiesto.
...

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5/16/2021 2:13:11 AM # 1.0.0.578