Fifteen Tristichs
1:6
Lemons hanging in mist make tiny lanterns.
Two horses are fetched, a grey and a strawberry roan.
You take the grey. The roan will be the death of me.
* * *
1:25
An insect on the window-pane, a burnt
match by the bedroom door:
something, or nothing at all?
* * *
1:89
Stone angels among broken columns
exchange kisses
over the graves of the long-since dead.
* * *
1:96
A train passing a village
late one Saturday. Indigo smoke.
A lone traveller.
* * *
2:26
Look – the new moon has just
slipped
a knife into her sleeve.
* * *
2:42
Pi-dogs. Dusty trees. A broken
balcony. A door into the night.
I have set my foot on the stairway.
* * *
2:82
She drops her bouquet on the bed.
She combs out her hair.
She strips off and goes to the window.
* * *
2:85
Each night, as you close your eyes, the unnameable
stands naked by your bed. It gazes
down at you and tells you everything.
* * *
3:10
Leaves step lightly on the nightwind;
in my sleep I hear them
and follow down to the taproot.
* * *
3:14
The station at night: silent, dark, deserted.
The station-master lights a cigarette.
He unzips and pisses down onto the tracks.
* * *
3:20
A closed house. A staircase.
A goldfish swims
in the tarnished mirror.
* * *
3:46
I flipped my cigarette-butt out of the window
into the cistern. Is it still glowing
or is that a shooting star?
* * *
3:61
Your sleep – a quiet lake.
A deer stoops to drink. I stoop
to drink.
* * *
3:89
The windows shuttered, the house empty apart
from the sleek and naked
absence of your body on the bed.
* * *
3:97
Those starlit nights... You could hear the apples
falling into the damp grass.
We let the apples lie, but gathered up the sound.
Lemons hanging in mist make tiny lanterns.
Two horses are fetched, a grey and a strawberry roan.
You take the grey. The roan will be the death of me.
* * *
1:25
An insect on the window-pane, a burnt
match by the bedroom door:
something, or nothing at all?
* * *
1:89
Stone angels among broken columns
exchange kisses
over the graves of the long-since dead.
* * *
1:96
A train passing a village
late one Saturday. Indigo smoke.
A lone traveller.
* * *
2:26
Look – the new moon has just
slipped
a knife into her sleeve.
* * *
2:42
Pi-dogs. Dusty trees. A broken
balcony. A door into the night.
I have set my foot on the stairway.
* * *
2:82
She drops her bouquet on the bed.
She combs out her hair.
She strips off and goes to the window.
* * *
2:85
Each night, as you close your eyes, the unnameable
stands naked by your bed. It gazes
down at you and tells you everything.
* * *
3:10
Leaves step lightly on the nightwind;
in my sleep I hear them
and follow down to the taproot.
* * *
3:14
The station at night: silent, dark, deserted.
The station-master lights a cigarette.
He unzips and pisses down onto the tracks.
* * *
3:20
A closed house. A staircase.
A goldfish swims
in the tarnished mirror.
* * *
3:46
I flipped my cigarette-butt out of the window
into the cistern. Is it still glowing
or is that a shooting star?
* * *
3:61
Your sleep – a quiet lake.
A deer stoops to drink. I stoop
to drink.
* * *
3:89
The windows shuttered, the house empty apart
from the sleek and naked
absence of your body on the bed.
* * *
3:97
Those starlit nights... You could hear the apples
falling into the damp grass.
We let the apples lie, but gathered up the sound.
Translated by David Harsent
Page(s) 11-13
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- Features
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- 14
- Acumen
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- Ambit
- Angel Exhaust
- ARTEMISpoetry
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- Cannon's Mouth, The
- Chroma
- Coffee House, The
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- Interpreter's House, The
- Iota
- Journal, The
- Lamport Court
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- Magma
- Matchbox
- Matter
- Modern Poetry in Translation
- Monkey Kettle
- Moodswing
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- North, The
- Oasis
- Obsessed with pipework
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- Painted, spoken
- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
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- Poetry London (1951)
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- Poetry Salzburg Review
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- Private Tutor
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- Quarto
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- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
- Seventh Quarry, The
- Shearsman
- Smiths Knoll
- Smoke
- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
- Tolling Elves
- Ugly Tree, The
- Weyfarers
- Wolf, The
- Yellow Crane, The