Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Robert Perišić

Big Hen of No Return

dawn comes after the egg gets broken
from the inside. Cornfields, you played your zither
in the wind. You are
my entire memory,
oil on the road, a tank truck,
Into the telegraph pole!
I plunged in Mexico.
dozing men on the street
gave me a look
and tilted their hats.
Only a man named Haar
dismounted his horse,
and entered the saloon.
He said: Whore
I never trusted her.

it was a July evening
the smell of barn in the moonlight.
Now it’s November,
they haven’t caught him yet.
Just a sigh: Haar, Haar

Velika Bespovratna Kokoš

Velika Bespovratna Kokoš

kad netko iznutra jaje razbije
zora je. polje kukuruza, u vjetru
svirala si citru. Ti
si mi sva memorija,
na cesti ulje, cisterna,
U telegrafski stup!
pao sam u Mexico.
osmotrili su me nakratko
podigavši obode
i opet utonuli u ulični san.
Samo je čovjek Haar
sišao s konja,
ušao u saloon
Rekao je: Kurva
nikad joj nisam mogao vjerovati.

bila je srpanjska večer
i stajski mirisi na mjesečini.
Sad je već studeni,
još ga nisu uhvatili.
Samo uzdahnu: Haar, Haar
Close

Big Hen of No Return

dawn comes after the egg gets broken
from the inside. Cornfields, you played your zither
in the wind. You are
my entire memory,
oil on the road, a tank truck,
Into the telegraph pole!
I plunged in Mexico.
dozing men on the street
gave me a look
and tilted their hats.
Only a man named Haar
dismounted his horse,
and entered the saloon.
He said: Whore
I never trusted her.

it was a July evening
the smell of barn in the moonlight.
Now it’s November,
they haven’t caught him yet.
Just a sigh: Haar, Haar

Big Hen of No Return

dawn comes after the egg gets broken
from the inside. Cornfields, you played your zither
in the wind. You are
my entire memory,
oil on the road, a tank truck,
Into the telegraph pole!
I plunged in Mexico.
dozing men on the street
gave me a look
and tilted their hats.
Only a man named Haar
dismounted his horse,
and entered the saloon.
He said: Whore
I never trusted her.

it was a July evening
the smell of barn in the moonlight.
Now it’s November,
they haven’t caught him yet.
Just a sigh: Haar, Haar
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère