If someone asks I have at hand
a view and at home another two in me
sleep the flies I can get homesick too
sometimes the heartshit this white beating like
Jasmine this time I won’t go there for
On the tour boat last time I sat by
an old vice-admiral we began
to chat he asked if I was for
peace yes I said on all accounts but
not for all he blinked he laughed lightly
a little bit more than slightly
When my mother died I was too
alone I took from my pocket one by one six swarms
of mosquitoes in the sky above through the neighbourhood like poppies
green at least it was a task But you see the point was
how all the street chattered like a funnel of tin
and a suitcase of asphalt guided her to the platform
my mother as is fitting.
Well, that girl, that girlie with a moustache And
Thin like a broom read my coffee: The sixth
station is another nation (no matter which one) oh, green
a quarter to alive it’s a little late, she said.
© Carl Hanser Verlag, München, 2005
Polirom, Bucharest, 2005
in featherhouse lives a rooster
in leafhouse the lane
a rabbit lives in pelthouse
in waterhouse a lake
in cornerhouse – the patrol
pushes someone from the balcony there
above the elder tree, then
it was suicide again
in paperhouse lives the official statement
in the chignon lives a lady
Translated by Thomas Cooper