Poem
Ivan Štrpka
Flatland, southwest. New voice
Flatland, southwest. New voiceLanguage, those pale scribblings, writing themselves
under the tongues of stone lions.
Dying light covers us in dust
that we can't smell or see.
Slowly you move your dry lips. In vain.
In you the stiff hairless woman is silent.
So is the woman with leaden hair who slowly, constantly,
moves through the tunnel in the opposite direction -
to the other end.
Vlakland, zuidwest. Nieuwe stem
Vlakland, zuidwest. Nieuwe stemTaal, die bleke krabbels, zichzelf schrijvend
onder de tong van stenen leeuwen.
Dovend licht bedekt ons met stof
dat we ruiken noch zien.
Langzaam beweeg je je droge mond. Tevergeefs.
In jou zwijgt die stramme vrouw zonder haar.
En ook die vrouw met loden haren die steeds
traag door de tunnel trekt in omgekeerde richting –
naar de andere kant.
Poems
Poems of Ivan Štrpka
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Flatland, southwest. New voice
Flatland, southwest. New voiceLanguage, those pale scribblings, writing themselves
under the tongues of stone lions.
Dying light covers us in dust
that we can't smell or see.
Slowly you move your dry lips. In vain.
In you the stiff hairless woman is silent.
So is the woman with leaden hair who slowly, constantly,
moves through the tunnel in the opposite direction -
to the other end.
Flatland, southwest. New voice
Flatland, southwest. New voiceLanguage, those pale scribblings, writing themselves
under the tongues of stone lions.
Dying light covers us in dust
that we can't smell or see.
Slowly you move your dry lips. In vain.
In you the stiff hairless woman is silent.
So is the woman with leaden hair who slowly, constantly,
moves through the tunnel in the opposite direction -
to the other end.
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