Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Brane Mozetič

It seems that missiles have lit up the sky

It seems that missiles have lit up the sky. No words
around me. There must be a racket
that I don’t know, don’t hear. I call an expert,
enough books, bodies, for him to find
a point from which everything could start
over. Not much time needed. He lays out a black cover
and orders me to surrender my
nakedness. He puts on black gloves and touches me.
Every so often, he asks if I can feel it,
if anything hurts. Inch by inch,
he sucks me, lies down on me heavily
and bites my ears. I wait for him to find that
spot where the universe opens up and I’m gasping
for air, when I feel as I do lying
next to you, when I put my hand
on your chest and tremble. I can use
a needle, he suggests. I’ll prick your
chest, hands, I’ll pierce your penis,
some people still enjoy that. What should I say?
Let him use his knowledge, all of his
capabilities, let him somehow bring on back
that feeling for a second, a feeling that’s been lost
.
He doesn’t understand. He helps everyone
but I wish for something that does not exist,
something I’ve made up, something only I can
erase. After hours, he gives up, packs up
his instruments and leaves. My wounds burn,
all that I feel.

It seems that missiles have lit up the sky

Zdi se, da rakete razsvetljujejo nebo. Poleg
mene ni besed. Mora biti strašen hrup
in ne vem, ne slišim. Pokličem strokovnjaka,
ker dovolj bilo je knjig, teles, mogoče
bo še našel točko, kjer bi se vse zopet
začelo. Ni treba dolgo. Razgrne črno ogrinjalo
ter mi ukaže, naj se gol predam njegovim
prstom. Nadene si črne rokavice in me otipava.
Vsake toliko mi reče, naj povem, ali čutim,
ali kaj boli. Centimeter za centimetrom me
izsesava, leže name, s težo pritiska in
mi grize ušesa. Čakam, da bo našel tisto
točko, ko se mi razpre vesolje in lovim
zrak, ko imel bom tak občutek, kot tedaj,
ko ležem poleg tebe, ko ti dam roko
čez prsi in drhtim. Lahko uporabim
tudi iglo, mi predlaga. Prebodem ti
kožo na prsih, na roki, prebodem ti ud,
nekaterim to zelo ugaja. Kaj naj rečem?
Naj uporabi vse svoje znanje, vse svoje
spretnosti, naj mi nekako le povrne tisti
občutek, vsaj za sekundo, ki se je izgubil.
Ne razume. Še vsem je lahko pomagal, jaz
pa tu želim nekaj, kar ne obstaja, kar
sem si izmislil, kar lahko izbrišem samo
sam. Po urah truda obupa, pospravi
svoje rekvizite in gre. Rane me skelijo,
to je vse, kar še občutim.
Close

It seems that missiles have lit up the sky

It seems that missiles have lit up the sky. No words
around me. There must be a racket
that I don’t know, don’t hear. I call an expert,
enough books, bodies, for him to find
a point from which everything could start
over. Not much time needed. He lays out a black cover
and orders me to surrender my
nakedness. He puts on black gloves and touches me.
Every so often, he asks if I can feel it,
if anything hurts. Inch by inch,
he sucks me, lies down on me heavily
and bites my ears. I wait for him to find that
spot where the universe opens up and I’m gasping
for air, when I feel as I do lying
next to you, when I put my hand
on your chest and tremble. I can use
a needle, he suggests. I’ll prick your
chest, hands, I’ll pierce your penis,
some people still enjoy that. What should I say?
Let him use his knowledge, all of his
capabilities, let him somehow bring on back
that feeling for a second, a feeling that’s been lost
.
He doesn’t understand. He helps everyone
but I wish for something that does not exist,
something I’ve made up, something only I can
erase. After hours, he gives up, packs up
his instruments and leaves. My wounds burn,
all that I feel.

It seems that missiles have lit up the sky

It seems that missiles have lit up the sky. No words
around me. There must be a racket
that I don’t know, don’t hear. I call an expert,
enough books, bodies, for him to find
a point from which everything could start
over. Not much time needed. He lays out a black cover
and orders me to surrender my
nakedness. He puts on black gloves and touches me.
Every so often, he asks if I can feel it,
if anything hurts. Inch by inch,
he sucks me, lies down on me heavily
and bites my ears. I wait for him to find that
spot where the universe opens up and I’m gasping
for air, when I feel as I do lying
next to you, when I put my hand
on your chest and tremble. I can use
a needle, he suggests. I’ll prick your
chest, hands, I’ll pierce your penis,
some people still enjoy that. What should I say?
Let him use his knowledge, all of his
capabilities, let him somehow bring on back
that feeling for a second, a feeling that’s been lost
.
He doesn’t understand. He helps everyone
but I wish for something that does not exist,
something I’ve made up, something only I can
erase. After hours, he gives up, packs up
his instruments and leaves. My wounds burn,
all that I feel.
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