Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

O. Nimigean

a house a fence a tree a bird

I’ll never travel America
I’ll never ride Brooklyn’s steel rails
follow echoes of Whitman only in mind prairies and
factories steam rising from rivers with Crane’s eyes
I’ll watch the water, its devouring jellyfish flesh

I won’t wander the boulevards of Paris
under statues in bird shit coquettish as snow
I won’t go drowsy into bistros won’t be brothers
with Nicholas the dog I would hardly live in a book
lemonade yellow (here kitty, kitty, into the sack)
or in an attic make love to Zazie
and then
Anna’s tomboy face

won’t appear to me anymore in the foggy evenings
somewhere between the Pickwick Club and Buckingham Palace
(only the girl you would kiss by Spaski Tower
will whisper my name in Trafalgar Square)

farewell, farewell, roads on which Wilhelm apprenticed
fair-haired Kriemhildes on trains from Berlin to Potsdam
farewell crazy Bavarian king

I’ll never see Rome
stretch my arm from the top of Trajan’s column
I will not kneel in St. Peter’s
won’t bequeath my laundry in my last will
in Palermo where
Prince Salina sleeps his eternal sleep
on a sunny terrace

(and you Isonzo won’t shape me like one of your stones)

I won’t turn towards Zaragosa either
to shatter the lies of apocryphal books
my dear barber my beloved student
I won’t send Sancho to Toboso
and I won’t sniff the fungus air of Sagrada
except from dusty fliers
(soledades, soledades in tomes glittering gold
from the Golden Age in books trickling
the mixed blood of bull and matador)

on the banks of Bahluiu I will wait
for Ligheea to surface from the muddy waters smelling of the Mediterranean
(but she’ll never surface maybe a fat
drunk school girl will curse in demotiki)

(may Oedipus’s tomb in Colonnus stay forever unknown)

country of no fatherland
I watch your invisible walls
drawing clumsily on them with chalk
a house a fence a tree a bird
and myself among them
playing with a ring of smoke.

o casă un gard un copac o pasăre

o casă un gard un copac o pasăre

nu voi străbate niciodată America
nu voi pipăi şinele de fier ale Brooklynului
doar în gînd se vor urma ecourile lui Whitman preerii şi
uzine fluvii de pe care se ridică aburul          cu ochii lui Crane
voi privi apa cărnurile ei de moluscă devoratoare

nu voi flana pe bulevardele Parisului
pe sub statui albite de-o şăgalnică zăpadă de găinaţuri
nu voi intra adormit în bistrouri nu voi fi frate cu
Nicholas Cîinele abia dacă-ntr-o cărţulie
galbenă ca limonada (pis-pis-pis vino-ncoa' să te-nnod)
voi locui o mansardă mă voi iubi cu Zazie
iar chipul
de băietan al Annei

nu mi se va arăta în amurguri ceţoase
între Clubul Pickwick şi Buckingham Palace
(doar fata pe care o sărutai lîngă Turnul Spasski
îmi va şopti numele în Trafalgar Square)

adio adio drumuri pe care ucenicise Wilhelm
blonde Kriemhilde trenuri Berlin-Potsdam
adio rege nebun al Bavariei

nu voi vedea niciodată Roma
din vîrful Columnei n-o să întind braţul de Imperator
nu voi îngenunchea în San Pietro
nu-mi voi lăsa rufăria prin testament
într-un Palermo în care
prinţul Salina îşi doarme somnul de veci
pe o terasă-nsorită

(iar tu Isonzo nu mă vei şlefui ca pe o piatră de-a ta)

nici nu voi coti-o spre Zaragoza
pentru a spulbera minciunile apocrifilor
dragul meu bărbier iubite student
nici nu-l voi trimite pe Sancho la Toboso
şi nu voi adulmeca decît de pe-nvechite pliante
aerul plin de spori al ciupercii nebune Sagrada
(soledades soledades din tomuri străluceşte aurul
Secolului de Aur din cărţi se prelinge amestecat
sîngele taurului şi-al toreadorului)

pe malul Bahluiului voi aştepta
să iasă din bahnă Ligheea mirosind a Mediterană
(nicicînd nu va ieşi          poate-o studentă
grasă şi beată va înjura în demotiki)

(rămînă pe veci neştiut mormîntul lui Oedip la Colonos)

ţară fără patrie
îţi privesc zidurile nevăzute
schiţez pe ele cu creta stîngaci
o casă un gard un copac o pasăre
printre ele eu însumi
jucîndu-mă cu un cerc de fum
Close

a house a fence a tree a bird

I’ll never travel America
I’ll never ride Brooklyn’s steel rails
follow echoes of Whitman only in mind prairies and
factories steam rising from rivers with Crane’s eyes
I’ll watch the water, its devouring jellyfish flesh

I won’t wander the boulevards of Paris
under statues in bird shit coquettish as snow
I won’t go drowsy into bistros won’t be brothers
with Nicholas the dog I would hardly live in a book
lemonade yellow (here kitty, kitty, into the sack)
or in an attic make love to Zazie
and then
Anna’s tomboy face

won’t appear to me anymore in the foggy evenings
somewhere between the Pickwick Club and Buckingham Palace
(only the girl you would kiss by Spaski Tower
will whisper my name in Trafalgar Square)

farewell, farewell, roads on which Wilhelm apprenticed
fair-haired Kriemhildes on trains from Berlin to Potsdam
farewell crazy Bavarian king

I’ll never see Rome
stretch my arm from the top of Trajan’s column
I will not kneel in St. Peter’s
won’t bequeath my laundry in my last will
in Palermo where
Prince Salina sleeps his eternal sleep
on a sunny terrace

(and you Isonzo won’t shape me like one of your stones)

I won’t turn towards Zaragosa either
to shatter the lies of apocryphal books
my dear barber my beloved student
I won’t send Sancho to Toboso
and I won’t sniff the fungus air of Sagrada
except from dusty fliers
(soledades, soledades in tomes glittering gold
from the Golden Age in books trickling
the mixed blood of bull and matador)

on the banks of Bahluiu I will wait
for Ligheea to surface from the muddy waters smelling of the Mediterranean
(but she’ll never surface maybe a fat
drunk school girl will curse in demotiki)

(may Oedipus’s tomb in Colonnus stay forever unknown)

country of no fatherland
I watch your invisible walls
drawing clumsily on them with chalk
a house a fence a tree a bird
and myself among them
playing with a ring of smoke.

a house a fence a tree a bird

I’ll never travel America
I’ll never ride Brooklyn’s steel rails
follow echoes of Whitman only in mind prairies and
factories steam rising from rivers with Crane’s eyes
I’ll watch the water, its devouring jellyfish flesh

I won’t wander the boulevards of Paris
under statues in bird shit coquettish as snow
I won’t go drowsy into bistros won’t be brothers
with Nicholas the dog I would hardly live in a book
lemonade yellow (here kitty, kitty, into the sack)
or in an attic make love to Zazie
and then
Anna’s tomboy face

won’t appear to me anymore in the foggy evenings
somewhere between the Pickwick Club and Buckingham Palace
(only the girl you would kiss by Spaski Tower
will whisper my name in Trafalgar Square)

farewell, farewell, roads on which Wilhelm apprenticed
fair-haired Kriemhildes on trains from Berlin to Potsdam
farewell crazy Bavarian king

I’ll never see Rome
stretch my arm from the top of Trajan’s column
I will not kneel in St. Peter’s
won’t bequeath my laundry in my last will
in Palermo where
Prince Salina sleeps his eternal sleep
on a sunny terrace

(and you Isonzo won’t shape me like one of your stones)

I won’t turn towards Zaragosa either
to shatter the lies of apocryphal books
my dear barber my beloved student
I won’t send Sancho to Toboso
and I won’t sniff the fungus air of Sagrada
except from dusty fliers
(soledades, soledades in tomes glittering gold
from the Golden Age in books trickling
the mixed blood of bull and matador)

on the banks of Bahluiu I will wait
for Ligheea to surface from the muddy waters smelling of the Mediterranean
(but she’ll never surface maybe a fat
drunk school girl will curse in demotiki)

(may Oedipus’s tomb in Colonnus stay forever unknown)

country of no fatherland
I watch your invisible walls
drawing clumsily on them with chalk
a house a fence a tree a bird
and myself among them
playing with a ring of smoke.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère