Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Claudiu Komartin

Five days

Today I woke up knowing everything,
though I’d prefer anything to that:
to take, at last, a deep breath,
to be able to unwind a good thought inside the walls of my skull.
I wish my clothes didn’t smell of mildew and sweat,
that rumble growing louder in my head,
not just firecrackers and sparklers, as on Christmas,
as if someone was hysterically beating
the walls of a huge, empty vessel
with his fists.

For five days, I know:
I’m the envelope of anthrax you receive some Thursday at the office.
I’m your envious whine.
I’m the razorblade under your tongue.
I’m all the things you like, all that’s cancerous and obscure.
Will you remember me, supermarket man?
I’m nobody. I think I’m the devil incarnate.
I’m the dry cough you cannot shake.
I’m the meanness and hatred of the year 2005.

For five days it’s fever and loneliness.
For five days only pigs and night before my eyes,
the red of insomnia
and hot tea, my body coiled under sheets
run through with thick, devastating phlegm.
For five days my thin arms
reach out purposely towards nobody

because I am nobody
and the world is my kingdom.

Cinci zile

Cinci zile

Azi m-am trezit ştiind totul
deşi aş fi preferat orice altceva:
să respir normal măcar o gură de aer
să pot să rostogolesc un gînd bun între pereţii craniului
hainele de pe mine să nu miroasă a transpiraţie şi mucegai
în cap bubuiturile se-ntețiseră
nu doar petarde şi artificii, cum se întîmplă pe-aici de crăciun
era ca şi cum cineva ar fi lovit isterizat
cu pumnii într-un borcan mare şi gol

de cinci zile, ştiu:
sunt plicul cu anthrax pe care-l primeşti într-o joi la birou
sunt schimonoseala ta de invidie
sunt o lamă de ras ţinută sub limbă
sunt tot ce-ţi place, tot ce-i cancerigen şi obscur
îţi vei aduce aminte de mine, omule din supermarket?
sunt un nimic şi mă cred dracul gol
sunt tusea seacă de care nu mai scapi
sunt răutatea şi ura anului 2005

de cinci zile febră şi singurătate
de cinci zile numai porcii valsează noaptea
înaintea ochilor mei înroşiţi de nesomn
şi ceai fierbinte, şi o flegmă groasă, pustiitoare
curgîndu-mi prin trupul chircit între aşternuturi
de cinci zile braţele mele subțiate
se întind meschin către nimeni

fiindcă eu sunt nimeni
şi lumea este împărăţia mea.
Close

Five days

Today I woke up knowing everything,
though I’d prefer anything to that:
to take, at last, a deep breath,
to be able to unwind a good thought inside the walls of my skull.
I wish my clothes didn’t smell of mildew and sweat,
that rumble growing louder in my head,
not just firecrackers and sparklers, as on Christmas,
as if someone was hysterically beating
the walls of a huge, empty vessel
with his fists.

For five days, I know:
I’m the envelope of anthrax you receive some Thursday at the office.
I’m your envious whine.
I’m the razorblade under your tongue.
I’m all the things you like, all that’s cancerous and obscure.
Will you remember me, supermarket man?
I’m nobody. I think I’m the devil incarnate.
I’m the dry cough you cannot shake.
I’m the meanness and hatred of the year 2005.

For five days it’s fever and loneliness.
For five days only pigs and night before my eyes,
the red of insomnia
and hot tea, my body coiled under sheets
run through with thick, devastating phlegm.
For five days my thin arms
reach out purposely towards nobody

because I am nobody
and the world is my kingdom.

Five days

Today I woke up knowing everything,
though I’d prefer anything to that:
to take, at last, a deep breath,
to be able to unwind a good thought inside the walls of my skull.
I wish my clothes didn’t smell of mildew and sweat,
that rumble growing louder in my head,
not just firecrackers and sparklers, as on Christmas,
as if someone was hysterically beating
the walls of a huge, empty vessel
with his fists.

For five days, I know:
I’m the envelope of anthrax you receive some Thursday at the office.
I’m your envious whine.
I’m the razorblade under your tongue.
I’m all the things you like, all that’s cancerous and obscure.
Will you remember me, supermarket man?
I’m nobody. I think I’m the devil incarnate.
I’m the dry cough you cannot shake.
I’m the meanness and hatred of the year 2005.

For five days it’s fever and loneliness.
For five days only pigs and night before my eyes,
the red of insomnia
and hot tea, my body coiled under sheets
run through with thick, devastating phlegm.
For five days my thin arms
reach out purposely towards nobody

because I am nobody
and the world is my kingdom.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère