Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Maryam Hooleh

THE CREATOR THAT WE LOVE

Searching to find a pair of glasses 
somewhere on this planet
is exactly like falling for somebody to love forever 

As I am walking
lob my neck over
perhaps further along 
standing has overtaken departure

I keep talking all the time . . .
A chariot of flesh all the time . . .
I keep talking all the time . . .
Cotton filled co-travellers all the time . . .

How can one learn human speech from a train
until the rails know I am sitting in time 
and the coach of artificial minutes 
has overtaken me; 
I am a function of optic movements
not those muscular frequencies 
Mute    was the awesomeness of my forefathers
My sheepskin of contemporaneous winters
 
For years now there’s been no sky up there 
and for years no sun has shone on us
because we are earthlings 
Earthlings
precisely at the address of a worm-ridden lentil
in the galaxy of harvest poundings with whip and apple
oblique planets 
And a disabled pregnant being    bent over the symmetry of existence

And it is she
The Creator who we are! 
 

پروردگاري که عاشق اوييم

پروردگاري که عاشق اوييم


جستجو براي يافتن يک عينک
که روي کره ي زمين قرار گرفته
درست مثل اينکه آدم عاشق کسي شود
که براي هميشه او را دوست داشته باشد

همينطور که راه مي روم
گردنم را پرت کنيد
شايد آن جلوتر
ماندن از رفتن جلو زده باشد

هي من حرف بزن ...
هي ارابه ي گوشتي ....
هي من حرف بزن ....
هي همسفران پنبه اي ...

چطور مي شود از قطار     زبان آدميزاد ياد گرفت
                                  تا آهن بداند من در زمان نشسته ام
                                  و کالسکه ي دقايق مصنوعي
                                                                 از من جلو زده ؛
من تابع حرکت هاي نوري ام
نه فرکانس هاي ماهيچه اي ؛
لالماني        ابهت پدرانم بوده
                پوستين زمستان هاي معاصرم ؛

سال هاست آسماني در کار نبوده آن بالا
و سال هاست آفتابي بر ما نتابيده
زيرا که ما زميني هستيم
              زميني
                درست به آدرس يک عدس کرمو
                در کهکشان خرمن کوبي هاي تازيانه و سيب
                                                          کرات اريب
                  و افليج حامله      که بر تقارن هستي خم شده

واين اوست
پروردگاري که ما هستيم !

Close

THE CREATOR THAT WE LOVE

Searching to find a pair of glasses 
somewhere on this planet
is exactly like falling for somebody to love forever 

As I am walking
lob my neck over
perhaps further along 
standing has overtaken departure

I keep talking all the time . . .
A chariot of flesh all the time . . .
I keep talking all the time . . .
Cotton filled co-travellers all the time . . .

How can one learn human speech from a train
until the rails know I am sitting in time 
and the coach of artificial minutes 
has overtaken me; 
I am a function of optic movements
not those muscular frequencies 
Mute    was the awesomeness of my forefathers
My sheepskin of contemporaneous winters
 
For years now there’s been no sky up there 
and for years no sun has shone on us
because we are earthlings 
Earthlings
precisely at the address of a worm-ridden lentil
in the galaxy of harvest poundings with whip and apple
oblique planets 
And a disabled pregnant being    bent over the symmetry of existence

And it is she
The Creator who we are! 
 

THE CREATOR THAT WE LOVE

Searching to find a pair of glasses 
somewhere on this planet
is exactly like falling for somebody to love forever 

As I am walking
lob my neck over
perhaps further along 
standing has overtaken departure

I keep talking all the time . . .
A chariot of flesh all the time . . .
I keep talking all the time . . .
Cotton filled co-travellers all the time . . .

How can one learn human speech from a train
until the rails know I am sitting in time 
and the coach of artificial minutes 
has overtaken me; 
I am a function of optic movements
not those muscular frequencies 
Mute    was the awesomeness of my forefathers
My sheepskin of contemporaneous winters
 
For years now there’s been no sky up there 
and for years no sun has shone on us
because we are earthlings 
Earthlings
precisely at the address of a worm-ridden lentil
in the galaxy of harvest poundings with whip and apple
oblique planets 
And a disabled pregnant being    bent over the symmetry of existence

And it is she
The Creator who we are! 
 
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère