Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Umberto Fiori

TRANSPORTS

Passing from asphalt
to a stretch of paving
the windows were vibrating,
underneath you felt the wheels
shivering. It seemed we were going to smash,
however, it wasn’t serious:
people still standing, people sitting. Then
at a certain bus-stop
everyone’s off. The empty bus
closes its doors, and goes.

On the bend
I grabbed for another rail
and felt it warm
under my fingers
like the head of a new-born child.

VERVOER

Toen we van het asfalt
overgingen op het plaveisel
rammelden de ruiten,
en onder ons trilden
de wielen. Het leek een ongeluk,
maar nee, niets aan de hand:
staande mensen, zittende mensen. Dan,
bij een bepaalde halte,
allen eruit. De lege bus
sluit zijn deuren, vertrekt.

In de bocht
heb ik mij vastgegrepen aan een andere stang
en voelde die lauwwarm
onder mijn vingers
als het hoofdje van een zuigeling.

TRASPORTI

Passando dall’asfalto
a un tratto di lastricato
i finestrini vibravano,
sotto sentivi tremare
le ruote. Sembrava un disastro,
invece, niente di grave:
gente in piedi, gente seduta. Poi
a una certa fermata
giù tutti. L’autobus vuoto
richiude le porte, va.

In curva
io mi sono aggrappato a un’altra sbarra
e l’ho sentita tiepida
sotto le dita
come la testa di un neonato.
Close

TRANSPORTS

Passing from asphalt
to a stretch of paving
the windows were vibrating,
underneath you felt the wheels
shivering. It seemed we were going to smash,
however, it wasn’t serious:
people still standing, people sitting. Then
at a certain bus-stop
everyone’s off. The empty bus
closes its doors, and goes.

On the bend
I grabbed for another rail
and felt it warm
under my fingers
like the head of a new-born child.

TRANSPORTS

Passing from asphalt
to a stretch of paving
the windows were vibrating,
underneath you felt the wheels
shivering. It seemed we were going to smash,
however, it wasn’t serious:
people still standing, people sitting. Then
at a certain bus-stop
everyone’s off. The empty bus
closes its doors, and goes.

On the bend
I grabbed for another rail
and felt it warm
under my fingers
like the head of a new-born child.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère