Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Claudiu Komartin

(What are you staring at)

I know my poetry means nothing
other than in a world you are absent from.

I have a hoof in place of a heart
and a hair ball instead of a liver.

Do you think I carried the candle for it?
What are you staring at, József Attila?

A blazing accordeon riffles through
the compacted singing of a chunk of meat
which must be gulped down in hiding.

Amidst the rabble, the shy senile cannibal
is kissing his own hands
splattering with saliva
the cheek of a coddled swine
who’s laughing and staggering

staggering horribly on the gallows.



(La ce te zgâiești)

(La ce te zgâiești)

Ştiu că poezia mea nu înseamnă nimic
decât într-o lume din care tu eşti absentă.

Am o copită în loc de inimă
şi-un ghem de păr în loc de ficat.

Crezi că am căutat-o cu lumânarea?
La ce te zgâiești, Jószef Attila?

Un acordeon în flăcări
risipeşte cântecul comprimat al
hălcii pe care creierul o înfulecă pe ascuns.

În mijlocul gloatei, canibalul sfios şi senil îşi
sărută mâinile
împroşcând cu salivă
obrazul acesta de porc
ce se alintă, râde, se clatină,

se clatină groaznic în ştreang.
Close

(What are you staring at)

I know my poetry means nothing
other than in a world you are absent from.

I have a hoof in place of a heart
and a hair ball instead of a liver.

Do you think I carried the candle for it?
What are you staring at, József Attila?

A blazing accordeon riffles through
the compacted singing of a chunk of meat
which must be gulped down in hiding.

Amidst the rabble, the shy senile cannibal
is kissing his own hands
splattering with saliva
the cheek of a coddled swine
who’s laughing and staggering

staggering horribly on the gallows.



(What are you staring at)

I know my poetry means nothing
other than in a world you are absent from.

I have a hoof in place of a heart
and a hair ball instead of a liver.

Do you think I carried the candle for it?
What are you staring at, József Attila?

A blazing accordeon riffles through
the compacted singing of a chunk of meat
which must be gulped down in hiding.

Amidst the rabble, the shy senile cannibal
is kissing his own hands
splattering with saliva
the cheek of a coddled swine
who’s laughing and staggering

staggering horribly on the gallows.



Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère