Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Silvia Bre

Still too tired not to be still

Still too tired not to be still
you come and sit
for a vigor not knowing how to be consistent
at the bottom of sleep
and you are like any thought would be
if left to its own fate
a grip that loosens to reveal
that every tiny detail is universal
 
and whoever sleeps inside your chasm
arches on the surface
and sits in for the sky
nobody is surprised if suddenly
invaded by an enormous wind
a presence
that outlines itself and gives shadows
constellations
roads in which – without recognizing them – you see yourself
and where what happens
is as it seems
so much it rips from the voice
names to unveil as soon as they are born
 
those who pronounce them are awake and say ‘day’
as if to tell the existence of the world.

Still too tired not to be still

Ancora stanco di non essere ancora
vieni e ti siedi
per un vigore che non sa aver corpo
in fondo al sonno
e sei come sarebbe ogni pensiero
lasciato al suo destino
tenuta che si slaccia a rivelare
che il minimo dettaglio è universale
 
e chi ti dorme dentro lo sprofondo
s’inarca in superficie
e fa da cielo
nessuno si sorprende se di colpo
viene invaso da un vento madornale
una presenza
che si disegna intorno e dà ombre
costellazioni
strade in cui senza riconoscerle ti vedi
e dove ciò che avviene
è come pare
al punto di strappare dalla voce
nomi da inaugurare appena nati
 
chi li pronuncia è sveglio e dice giorno
come dicesse l’essere del mondo.
Close

Still too tired not to be still

Still too tired not to be still
you come and sit
for a vigor not knowing how to be consistent
at the bottom of sleep
and you are like any thought would be
if left to its own fate
a grip that loosens to reveal
that every tiny detail is universal
 
and whoever sleeps inside your chasm
arches on the surface
and sits in for the sky
nobody is surprised if suddenly
invaded by an enormous wind
a presence
that outlines itself and gives shadows
constellations
roads in which – without recognizing them – you see yourself
and where what happens
is as it seems
so much it rips from the voice
names to unveil as soon as they are born
 
those who pronounce them are awake and say ‘day’
as if to tell the existence of the world.

Still too tired not to be still

Still too tired not to be still
you come and sit
for a vigor not knowing how to be consistent
at the bottom of sleep
and you are like any thought would be
if left to its own fate
a grip that loosens to reveal
that every tiny detail is universal
 
and whoever sleeps inside your chasm
arches on the surface
and sits in for the sky
nobody is surprised if suddenly
invaded by an enormous wind
a presence
that outlines itself and gives shadows
constellations
roads in which – without recognizing them – you see yourself
and where what happens
is as it seems
so much it rips from the voice
names to unveil as soon as they are born
 
those who pronounce them are awake and say ‘day’
as if to tell the existence of the world.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère