May 17, 2008

Sitok Srengenge (2)


Like a bat
the nocturnal wanderer that you know from pictures,
or the ghostly prince from the dark chamber of Nosferatu's palace
who abducts virgins
into the fog and the howl of invisible dogs
I find peat marshes
in your piercing solitude
I see the desire lurking in the veins of your neck
like the fruit from the tree that has grown before the beginning of time
So bury all intention
to toy with eternity,
soon the bell will toll
from the peak of Anne Frank's tower,
siren's wails slashing the night:
somebody has just committed suicide
Dogs copulate with the cold,
you and I dissolve each other's soul into desire
Until someone with long hair,
who once called upon your dream,
opens the window
The fire in the furnace is out, charcoals crushed
into powder,
you and I
turn into ash
Driven by the winter wind I am cast into the ocean
becoming islands of the equator
you are left in your place, covered with snow
lumped into the past
Someday when the snow melts and the wind stirs the windmills,
you will be carried away by the water,
and at a certain point
will arrive at my side
Maybe embracing each other, then letting go of each other
till heaven knows when
Maybe like a dream
Like a dream

(Translated by Hasif Amini)


Before breath becomes fog
and fog
becomes snow
and on the willow twigs the snow
becomes tears, the fox lying on the bush path
no longer is the silent possession of the oak forest
In the valley of the River Ahr a thought becomes a stone
and the stone
becomes an old coat for the city that hides a wound
and the wound
becomes open fields,
where the veins are shattered
arisen as grape shoots,
children worm over, moaning with trembling lips,
"So cold out here. Open the door, please
don't let us die a frozen death."
Birds with wings of light kindle the stars in the sky
and their twinkling echoes a spectral sound:
Kling! Klingelingeling .... Like a groan from time immemorial,
yet not touching the ears
of the people
crouching with arms folded by the fireside
The wind turbines of winter quiver
driven into the altar
and children lump together like tropical islands
but no longer those of the mother who made the ocean with tears
Like an unexpected dream that makes one falter
during silent nights,
I come from an archipelago
But not one of yours!
(Translated by Hasif Amini)