Poem
Irena Matijašević
SUNDAY, THE UNKNOWN
f# is sharp pitched, the work of the armchair system, the radio is onblanket set carelessly aside, to begin dreaming again is cracked
glass mornings, a little hope pinned under the blanket, packed in the closet
that serves as a chest, without drawers, here, next to a few autumn jackets
there is no one, except for the cat that sometimes prowls in, and a movement or two
i'm waiting to turn around myself, two or three moves, the composition is given
that's why i can borrow you a piece or two, some tissues at least, you could reply to
my text message at least, that’s tasty, not aggressive, and at once i will help you
discover, when i find out i will send him an email, too, saying i don't hate tuesdays but him,
when i say sunday, damned sunday, no one’s around
it is graceful, through the gauzy curtains to the neighbor’s balcony
the waves of pleasure rise, rage is set aside and waiting, i can't swallow it, not yet
but we’ll learn who lies awake in their darkness, at home a surplus of tissues
to wipe your nose, two or three pieces of feelings scattered around, seemingly like clothes over chairs
because feelings are always more important than the illness, no matter of what kind
© Translation: 2013, Irena Matijašević
NEDJELJA, NEPOZNANICA
NEDJELJA, NEPOZNANICA
fis je povisilica, rad sustava na fotelji, radio sviraovlaš odložen pokrivač, napuklo je početi opet sanjati
staklena jutra, polaže se malena nada pod deke, spakirane u ormaru
koji služi kao škrinja, bez ladica, tu nadasve uz par jesenskih jakni
nema nikoga, osim mačka koji se ponekad uvuče, i još dva tri pokreta
čekam da se okrenem oko sebe, dva tri pokreta, kompozicija je zadana
zato ti mogu posuditi koji dio, barem maramice, mogla bi se barem
javiti na sms, to je ukusno, nije agresivno, i odmah ću pomoći
otkrivanju, kad saznam mailom ću mu uz to, poslati poruku da ne mrzim utorke nego njega,
kad kažem nedjelja prokleta nedjelja nigdje nikoga
skladno je, kroz paučinaste zavjese do susjednog balkona
uzdižu se valovi užitka, bijes je odložen i čeka, ne mogu ga progutati, ne još sada
ali saznat će se tko bdije u svom mraku, doma viška maramica
za brisanje nosa, dva su tri komada osjećaja razbacana naizgled kao odjeća po stolicama jer
osjećaji su uvijek važniji od bolesti, kojagod ona bila
© 2007, Irena Matijašević
From: Naizgled
Publisher: AGM, Zagreb
From: Naizgled
Publisher: AGM, Zagreb
Poems
Poems of Irena Matijašević
Close
SUNDAY, THE UNKNOWN
f# is sharp pitched, the work of the armchair system, the radio is onblanket set carelessly aside, to begin dreaming again is cracked
glass mornings, a little hope pinned under the blanket, packed in the closet
that serves as a chest, without drawers, here, next to a few autumn jackets
there is no one, except for the cat that sometimes prowls in, and a movement or two
i'm waiting to turn around myself, two or three moves, the composition is given
that's why i can borrow you a piece or two, some tissues at least, you could reply to
my text message at least, that’s tasty, not aggressive, and at once i will help you
discover, when i find out i will send him an email, too, saying i don't hate tuesdays but him,
when i say sunday, damned sunday, no one’s around
it is graceful, through the gauzy curtains to the neighbor’s balcony
the waves of pleasure rise, rage is set aside and waiting, i can't swallow it, not yet
but we’ll learn who lies awake in their darkness, at home a surplus of tissues
to wipe your nose, two or three pieces of feelings scattered around, seemingly like clothes over chairs
because feelings are always more important than the illness, no matter of what kind
© 2013, Irena Matijašević
From: Naizgled
From: Naizgled
SUNDAY, THE UNKNOWN
f# is sharp pitched, the work of the armchair system, the radio is onblanket set carelessly aside, to begin dreaming again is cracked
glass mornings, a little hope pinned under the blanket, packed in the closet
that serves as a chest, without drawers, here, next to a few autumn jackets
there is no one, except for the cat that sometimes prowls in, and a movement or two
i'm waiting to turn around myself, two or three moves, the composition is given
that's why i can borrow you a piece or two, some tissues at least, you could reply to
my text message at least, that’s tasty, not aggressive, and at once i will help you
discover, when i find out i will send him an email, too, saying i don't hate tuesdays but him,
when i say sunday, damned sunday, no one’s around
it is graceful, through the gauzy curtains to the neighbor’s balcony
the waves of pleasure rise, rage is set aside and waiting, i can't swallow it, not yet
but we’ll learn who lies awake in their darkness, at home a surplus of tissues
to wipe your nose, two or three pieces of feelings scattered around, seemingly like clothes over chairs
because feelings are always more important than the illness, no matter of what kind
© 2013, Irena Matijašević
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère