Poem
Nico Bleutge
in the window, at the tiny
view frame: the dried oilon the benches. beneath it the hard
cracked soil the ochre of the stalks the train
shunts slowly onto the rails, past houses
and pillars the piled-up tyres the eyes
fall back, scan the embankment for sand and soot
on the fingers remnants of varnish the wiry handles
of the emergency brake behind the ear tapping the rhythm
firmly into the skin. up to the border
everything settles down to the to
and fro of the neck, the cut gems
on the necklace, cameras and the clicking
of eyes looking up. the shy glance
behind the window, at a distance
it follows the wind. then again fences
holding the sand dust eucalyptus trees
the day lies limply between the hills
above it the sun, calm, a bright spot
in the picture of the landscape, somewhere behind
the sea is ticking
im fenster, am winzigen
im fenster, am winzigen
sichtausschnitt: das getrocknete ölauf den bänken. darunter der harte
rissige boden das ocker der halme der zug
schiebt sich langsam ins gleis, an häusern
und pfeilern vorbei die gestapelten reifen der blick
fällt zurück, tastet den damm ab nach sand und ruß
an den fingern reste von lack die drahtigen griffe
der notbremse hinter dem ohr die den takt fest
in die haut klopfen. bis an die grenze
pendelt sich alles ein auf das hin
und her des genicks, die geschliffenen steine
am kettchen, kameras und das klicken
der augen beim aufschaun. der scheue blick
hinterm fenster, in einiger entfernung
geht er dem wind nach. dann wieder zäune
die den sand halten staub eukalyptusbäume
der tag liegt schlaff zwischen den hügeln
darüber die sonne, ruhig, ein heller fleck
im bild der landschaft, irgendwo dahinter
tickt das meer
© 2002, Nico Bleutge
Poems
Poems of Nico Bleutge
Close
in the window, at the tiny
view frame: the dried oilon the benches. beneath it the hard
cracked soil the ochre of the stalks the train
shunts slowly onto the rails, past houses
and pillars the piled-up tyres the eyes
fall back, scan the embankment for sand and soot
on the fingers remnants of varnish the wiry handles
of the emergency brake behind the ear tapping the rhythm
firmly into the skin. up to the border
everything settles down to the to
and fro of the neck, the cut gems
on the necklace, cameras and the clicking
of eyes looking up. the shy glance
behind the window, at a distance
it follows the wind. then again fences
holding the sand dust eucalyptus trees
the day lies limply between the hills
above it the sun, calm, a bright spot
in the picture of the landscape, somewhere behind
the sea is ticking
in the window, at the tiny
view frame: the dried oilon the benches. beneath it the hard
cracked soil the ochre of the stalks the train
shunts slowly onto the rails, past houses
and pillars the piled-up tyres the eyes
fall back, scan the embankment for sand and soot
on the fingers remnants of varnish the wiry handles
of the emergency brake behind the ear tapping the rhythm
firmly into the skin. up to the border
everything settles down to the to
and fro of the neck, the cut gems
on the necklace, cameras and the clicking
of eyes looking up. the shy glance
behind the window, at a distance
it follows the wind. then again fences
holding the sand dust eucalyptus trees
the day lies limply between the hills
above it the sun, calm, a bright spot
in the picture of the landscape, somewhere behind
the sea is ticking
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