Some poems
Posted: Sun Jan 19, 2003 8:45 pm
I'm not sure what made me dig out those poems... They are random picks from many, several years old, weren't written with any literary value in mind, and they've been translated into English by a German with help from an American who doesn't speak German, go figure. Still, maybe someone might like them.
---
Alone
The night-light was her moon
and the slits in her Venetian blind
played stars for her.
The voices which spoke to her
came from the radio.
The steps on the corridor
moved off, as always.
And his smile
was so lifeless and empty
in the little photo.
She wondered
if she could die
in the drumfire
of the rain on her window-pane.
---
And?
There's war in the East.
A plane crashed.
127 deaths.
The forest is still dying.
The Lakers won 84 : 62.
A ship sank.
The oil-slick grows.
My neighbor has a new car.
More unemployed.
The Republicans lose voters.
An earthquake.
More than 300 deaths.
There's war in the South, too.
And somewhere in China a bag of rice falls over.
---
Four O'Clock in the Morning
Four o'clock in the morning.
Empty glasses, bottles, dishes around me.
I cannot sleep,
but staying awake ain't fun.
Reminds me of another time.
I couldn't die then,
but staying alive wasn't fun either.
Reminds me of you.
I cannot love you,
but hating you ain't fun either.
Now I'm sitting here, writing a stupid poem,
without meaning, only 'cause I feel like it.
Reminds me of another time,
I was running through the city without destination then.
Reminds me of another time,
I was running through my life without destination then.
---
The Yard
Stones and wood.
Lined up, inscribed, marked.
Below earth, stones, dirt.
In the dirt, wood, formed, moldy.
In the wood, remains, bones, disease.
On top of the dirt, flowers.
Cherished, nourished, soothing.
Flowers wither, too.
---
Alone
The night-light was her moon
and the slits in her Venetian blind
played stars for her.
The voices which spoke to her
came from the radio.
The steps on the corridor
moved off, as always.
And his smile
was so lifeless and empty
in the little photo.
She wondered
if she could die
in the drumfire
of the rain on her window-pane.
---
And?
There's war in the East.
A plane crashed.
127 deaths.
The forest is still dying.
The Lakers won 84 : 62.
A ship sank.
The oil-slick grows.
My neighbor has a new car.
More unemployed.
The Republicans lose voters.
An earthquake.
More than 300 deaths.
There's war in the South, too.
And somewhere in China a bag of rice falls over.
---
Four O'Clock in the Morning
Four o'clock in the morning.
Empty glasses, bottles, dishes around me.
I cannot sleep,
but staying awake ain't fun.
Reminds me of another time.
I couldn't die then,
but staying alive wasn't fun either.
Reminds me of you.
I cannot love you,
but hating you ain't fun either.
Now I'm sitting here, writing a stupid poem,
without meaning, only 'cause I feel like it.
Reminds me of another time,
I was running through the city without destination then.
Reminds me of another time,
I was running through my life without destination then.
---
The Yard
Stones and wood.
Lined up, inscribed, marked.
Below earth, stones, dirt.
In the dirt, wood, formed, moldy.
In the wood, remains, bones, disease.
On top of the dirt, flowers.
Cherished, nourished, soothing.
Flowers wither, too.
