Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Sibila Petlevski

A New Eye

We didn’t wait for the first stork above
the roof to fly but we put the nests on
the chimneys ourselves. Gone is the time
of wondering in which the rule would apply
that each thing is new to the new eye.
The dead quietly rise from the dead, people
live without idols all and each, freedom is
carried around like a pendant, one doesn’t die
for it more than for anything else, water is
made from blood, while ears are protected
from words and music by natural pitch.
Time and space are offered in a packet.
You’re almost a hero. Your senses
that used to be wrapped into a ball out of fear,
are slowly straightening, just like convolutions
of the brain. Life flows like current. It is
or isn’t there: one or zero. We’ve learned
to share the feelings that used to belong
only to us like reflections on the water:
as many glasses, as many moons in the glass.

Novo oko

Novo oko

Nismo čekali da proleti prva roda iznad krova  
nego smo sami postavili na dimnjake gnijezda.
Prošlo je vrijeme čuđenja u kojem je vrijedilo
pravilo da je svaka stvar novome oku nova.
Mrtvaci se mirno dižu iz mrtvih, žive ljudi bez idola,
slobodu se nosi kao privjesak, za nju se ne gine
više nego za bilo što drugo, iz krvi se dobiva
voda, a uši od riječi i glazbe čuva prirodna smola.  
Vrijeme i prostor nude se u paketu. Sva naša čula
koja su prije bila od straha smotana u kuglu, pomalo  
se ispravljaju, baš kao i vijuge mozga. Život teče
kao struja. Ima ga ili ga nema: jedinica ili nula.
Naučili smo dijeliti osjećaje koji su bili samo naši  
kao odraz u vodi: koliko čaša, toliko mjeseca u čaši.
Close

A New Eye

We didn’t wait for the first stork above
the roof to fly but we put the nests on
the chimneys ourselves. Gone is the time
of wondering in which the rule would apply
that each thing is new to the new eye.
The dead quietly rise from the dead, people
live without idols all and each, freedom is
carried around like a pendant, one doesn’t die
for it more than for anything else, water is
made from blood, while ears are protected
from words and music by natural pitch.
Time and space are offered in a packet.
You’re almost a hero. Your senses
that used to be wrapped into a ball out of fear,
are slowly straightening, just like convolutions
of the brain. Life flows like current. It is
or isn’t there: one or zero. We’ve learned
to share the feelings that used to belong
only to us like reflections on the water:
as many glasses, as many moons in the glass.

A New Eye

We didn’t wait for the first stork above
the roof to fly but we put the nests on
the chimneys ourselves. Gone is the time
of wondering in which the rule would apply
that each thing is new to the new eye.
The dead quietly rise from the dead, people
live without idols all and each, freedom is
carried around like a pendant, one doesn’t die
for it more than for anything else, water is
made from blood, while ears are protected
from words and music by natural pitch.
Time and space are offered in a packet.
You’re almost a hero. Your senses
that used to be wrapped into a ball out of fear,
are slowly straightening, just like convolutions
of the brain. Life flows like current. It is
or isn’t there: one or zero. We’ve learned
to share the feelings that used to belong
only to us like reflections on the water:
as many glasses, as many moons in the glass.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère