Gedicht
Martin Harrison
Isfahan
Isfahan
Isfahan
That half-open amber eye fixed on you,the woman in the kitchen half turning to you —
drowsy tonight, you take in the angles
of chairs, walls, old photos, a painted vase.
There, a heron’s stillness helps it vanish,
wading by a wind-flecked lake.
Outside, car-noise glistening after early rain.
Night’s silence builds its inner ear.
So birds croak from a cracked, green bush,
the mouth’s distortion roars into an amulet,
but nothing distinguishes each memory,
solidified into a white-domed zone:
a set of blocks along a slope, a fossil trace,
kitchen clatter acquires a blinder shape.
Its time is ridged like wind-blown sea.
Suddenly lit up, cat\'s-eyes down a moonless road.
© 1993, Martin Harrison
From: The Distribution of Voice
Publisher: University of Queensland Press, St Lucia
From: The Distribution of Voice
Publisher: University of Queensland Press, St Lucia
Gedichten
Gedichten van Martin Harrison
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Isfahan
That half-open amber eye fixed on you,the woman in the kitchen half turning to you —
drowsy tonight, you take in the angles
of chairs, walls, old photos, a painted vase.
There, a heron’s stillness helps it vanish,
wading by a wind-flecked lake.
Outside, car-noise glistening after early rain.
Night’s silence builds its inner ear.
So birds croak from a cracked, green bush,
the mouth’s distortion roars into an amulet,
but nothing distinguishes each memory,
solidified into a white-domed zone:
a set of blocks along a slope, a fossil trace,
kitchen clatter acquires a blinder shape.
Its time is ridged like wind-blown sea.
Suddenly lit up, cat\'s-eyes down a moonless road.
From: The Distribution of Voice
Isfahan
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