Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Branko Maleš

Crystal


hills are of steel combs
whose tunics are cuneal tongues
metal — you battered rug!

like a rubble the clay splayed
the cracks stuff themselves on candle
in the dark ice of esophagus
bees line up

photonic hive is — a leathery word
in which darkness comes together
on an ashy meadow!
with it peasants comb their swords
and their words are listened like herbal letters
in the morning lather
a face flies
everything happens like in a white sail
and the lather’s risen — like a lace a curl

like frost sizzles the rope pikes
a fingernail of silver brakes bit by bit
an owl and a pot steaming by the brook
the brook — the staff of winter
merchants whose slanted eyes
speak loudly and carry the saddlebags of
young algebra — and rug’s ears
to the strained skin

oh silo, how you glisten
like a salmon
colossus of letters!
like a stranger — the oil spills over porcelain

Kristal

Kristal


brda su čeličnih češljeva
čije su tunike klinasti jezici
kovino – krpo prolupana!

ko razvalina glina se razlila
pukotine žderu svijeću
u tamnom ledu jednjaka
naslagane su pčele

fotonsko je saće – kožnata riječ
gdje se sabire mrak
na čađavoj livadi!
seljaci od toga češljaju mačeve
koji se slušaju kao biljna štiva
u jutarnjoj sapunici
leti lice
ko u bijeloj jedrilici sve se događa
i usta pjena – ko čipka kovrča

ko mraz šišti uže štuke
nokat srebra puca po kat
ćuk i ćup puše se uz potok
potok – kolac zime
trgovci čije kose oči
glasno govore o nategnutoj koži
u bisagama nose mladu algebru
- i uši saga

o, blistav si silos
ko losos
kolos slova!
ko uljez – prospe se ulje po porculanu
Close

Crystal


hills are of steel combs
whose tunics are cuneal tongues
metal — you battered rug!

like a rubble the clay splayed
the cracks stuff themselves on candle
in the dark ice of esophagus
bees line up

photonic hive is — a leathery word
in which darkness comes together
on an ashy meadow!
with it peasants comb their swords
and their words are listened like herbal letters
in the morning lather
a face flies
everything happens like in a white sail
and the lather’s risen — like a lace a curl

like frost sizzles the rope pikes
a fingernail of silver brakes bit by bit
an owl and a pot steaming by the brook
the brook — the staff of winter
merchants whose slanted eyes
speak loudly and carry the saddlebags of
young algebra — and rug’s ears
to the strained skin

oh silo, how you glisten
like a salmon
colossus of letters!
like a stranger — the oil spills over porcelain

Crystal


hills are of steel combs
whose tunics are cuneal tongues
metal — you battered rug!

like a rubble the clay splayed
the cracks stuff themselves on candle
in the dark ice of esophagus
bees line up

photonic hive is — a leathery word
in which darkness comes together
on an ashy meadow!
with it peasants comb their swords
and their words are listened like herbal letters
in the morning lather
a face flies
everything happens like in a white sail
and the lather’s risen — like a lace a curl

like frost sizzles the rope pikes
a fingernail of silver brakes bit by bit
an owl and a pot steaming by the brook
the brook — the staff of winter
merchants whose slanted eyes
speak loudly and carry the saddlebags of
young algebra — and rug’s ears
to the strained skin

oh silo, how you glisten
like a salmon
colossus of letters!
like a stranger — the oil spills over porcelain
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère