Poem
Marko Pogačar
The Angel of Artillery
I wondered how we were going to survive the night.
the ride was smooth and the anaesthetic
slowly took effect.
it was a Thursday,
somehow I felt
like Andrew. the angel of artillery
promised solitude.
never have I felt worse. trees swept by
and I thought I’d never see them again.
the conductor came in while we were still on the ground.
I looked for a restaurant, but there was none.
I made tea on the camping stove
and propped myself on my ribs. outside October quivered.
once I fell asleep on the train
and woke up in Vinkovci.
autumn was looming. hotel lobbies
and saxophone solos until midnight, and then
telephones that are slowly becoming extinct. after that silence.
the rails that set space apart and become
the passive principle of return.
I thought about bloated cows.
since by definition
I can’t stand closure.
© Translation: 2008, Tomislav Kuzmanović
Artiljerijski anđeo
Artiljerijski anđeo
Razmišljao sam o tome kako ćemo preživjeti noć.
vožnja je bila glatka i anestezija je
polako djelovala.
bio je četvrtak,
nekako sam se
osjećao kao Andrija. artiljerijski anđeo
je obećavao samoću.
nikad se nisam osjećao gore. debla su promicala
i mislio sam da ih više nikada neću vidjeti.
kondukter je ušao dok smo još bili u zemlji.
tražio sam restoran ali ga nije bilo.
skuhao sam čaj na kamperskom kuhalu
i podbočio se rebrima. vani je titrao listopad.
jednom sam u vlaku zaspao
i probudio se u Vinkovcima.
jesen je bila na pomolu. hotelske sale i
saksofonska sola do ponoći, a onda
telefoni koji polako izumiru. poslije tišina.
šine koje razmiču prostor i postaju
pasivni princip povratka.
razmišljao sam o tome kako su krave napuhane.
kako po definiciji
ne podnosim završetke.
© 2006, Marko Pogačar
From: Pijavice nad Santa Cruzom
Publisher: AGM, Zagreb
From: Pijavice nad Santa Cruzom
Publisher: AGM, Zagreb
Poems
Poems of Marko Pogačar
Close
The Angel of Artillery
I wondered how we were going to survive the night.
the ride was smooth and the anaesthetic
slowly took effect.
it was a Thursday,
somehow I felt
like Andrew. the angel of artillery
promised solitude.
never have I felt worse. trees swept by
and I thought I’d never see them again.
the conductor came in while we were still on the ground.
I looked for a restaurant, but there was none.
I made tea on the camping stove
and propped myself on my ribs. outside October quivered.
once I fell asleep on the train
and woke up in Vinkovci.
autumn was looming. hotel lobbies
and saxophone solos until midnight, and then
telephones that are slowly becoming extinct. after that silence.
the rails that set space apart and become
the passive principle of return.
I thought about bloated cows.
since by definition
I can’t stand closure.
© 2008, Tomislav Kuzmanović
From: Pijavice nad Santa Cruzom
From: Pijavice nad Santa Cruzom
The Angel of Artillery
I wondered how we were going to survive the night.
the ride was smooth and the anaesthetic
slowly took effect.
it was a Thursday,
somehow I felt
like Andrew. the angel of artillery
promised solitude.
never have I felt worse. trees swept by
and I thought I’d never see them again.
the conductor came in while we were still on the ground.
I looked for a restaurant, but there was none.
I made tea on the camping stove
and propped myself on my ribs. outside October quivered.
once I fell asleep on the train
and woke up in Vinkovci.
autumn was looming. hotel lobbies
and saxophone solos until midnight, and then
telephones that are slowly becoming extinct. after that silence.
the rails that set space apart and become
the passive principle of return.
I thought about bloated cows.
since by definition
I can’t stand closure.
© 2008, Tomislav Kuzmanović
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