Poem
Piotr Sommer
Overdoing It
All night the cicadas measured timeand yet I couldn’t make it to sleep.
I was late by three hours,
then by four, then five.
I was hoping time would turn itself off,
allow me to somehow reach the finish line.
And yet even through the wind I heard
how mercilessly it thumped and banged
or actually: ticked on, lovelessly.
And without sleeping at all I dreamed
I was in a hurry, though I should know
a hurry is no use. No use, no use,
I was calling out the refrain, as if playing staccato
or with my own leg plucking the string, the wing.
Then I discovered I was the one keeping time,
rubbing against space, ticking from the inside,
and would sleep for good if I stopped.
© Translation: 2009, Christian Hawkey and William Martin
OVERTROKKEN
Krekels maten de hele nacht de tijden ik kon de slaap niet halen.
Ik was drie uur te laat,
daarna vier, toen vijf.
Ik rekende dat de tijd zichzelf zou uitschakelen,
zou toestaan de meet te halen.
En toch hoorde ik ook door de wind
hoe onbarmhartig hij klopte, dreunde,
dat wil zeggen liefdeloos tikte.
En zonder te slapen droomde ik dat ik me haastte
ook al weet ik wel dat haast nergens goed voor is.
Nergens goed voor, nergens, nergens,
riep ik het refrein, alsof ik staccato speelde
of met mijn eigen voet aan de snaar van de vleugel trok.
Toen ontdekte ik, dat ik de tijd mat,
de ruimte schaafde, van binnen tikte,
dat ik voorgoed zou inslapen, als ik daarmee zou stoppen.
© Vertaling: 2009, Tsead Bruinja en Karol Lesman
PRZEGIĘCIE
Cykady całą noc mierzyły czasa ja nie mogłem dobiec do snu.
Byłem spóźniony o trzy godziny,
potem o cztery, potem pięć.
Liczyłem, że czas się sam wyłączy,
pozwoli jakoś dojść do mety.
A jednak i przez wiatr słyszałem
jak niemiłosiernie stukał, dudnił,
to znaczy tykał bez miłości.
I wcale nie śpiąc śniłem, że się spieszę,
choć niby wiem, że pośpiech na nic.
Na nic się nie zda, na nic, na nic,
wołałem refren, jakbym grał staccato
lub własną nogą szarpał strunę skrzydła.
Wtedy odkryłem, że to ja czas mierzę,
pocieram przestrzeń, tykam od środka,
że zasnąłbym na dobre, gdybym przestał.
© 2009, Piotr Sommer
From: Dni i noce
Publisher: Biuro Literackie, Wrocław
From: Dni i noce
Publisher: Biuro Literackie, Wrocław
Poems
Poems of Piotr Sommer
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Overdoing It
All night the cicadas measured timeand yet I couldn’t make it to sleep.
I was late by three hours,
then by four, then five.
I was hoping time would turn itself off,
allow me to somehow reach the finish line.
And yet even through the wind I heard
how mercilessly it thumped and banged
or actually: ticked on, lovelessly.
And without sleeping at all I dreamed
I was in a hurry, though I should know
a hurry is no use. No use, no use,
I was calling out the refrain, as if playing staccato
or with my own leg plucking the string, the wing.
Then I discovered I was the one keeping time,
rubbing against space, ticking from the inside,
and would sleep for good if I stopped.
© 2009, Christian Hawkey and William Martin
From: Dni i noce
From: Dni i noce
Overdoing It
All night the cicadas measured timeand yet I couldn’t make it to sleep.
I was late by three hours,
then by four, then five.
I was hoping time would turn itself off,
allow me to somehow reach the finish line.
And yet even through the wind I heard
how mercilessly it thumped and banged
or actually: ticked on, lovelessly.
And without sleeping at all I dreamed
I was in a hurry, though I should know
a hurry is no use. No use, no use,
I was calling out the refrain, as if playing staccato
or with my own leg plucking the string, the wing.
Then I discovered I was the one keeping time,
rubbing against space, ticking from the inside,
and would sleep for good if I stopped.
© 2009, Christian Hawkey and William Martin
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