Paper-Thin Skin: In the Grip of Strange Thoughts
Autor Aigerim Tazhi Traducere de J. Katesen Limba Engleză Paperback – 5 iun 2019
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9781938890901
ISBN-10: 1938890906
Pagini: 160
Dimensiuni: 152 x 203 mm
Greutate: 0.2 kg
Editura: Zephyr Press
Seria In the Grip of Strange Thoughts
ISBN-10: 1938890906
Pagini: 160
Dimensiuni: 152 x 203 mm
Greutate: 0.2 kg
Editura: Zephyr Press
Seria In the Grip of Strange Thoughts
Cuprins
Translator's Introduction: Aigerim Tazhi's Temple of Words
1
Walking like a camel
Where is it, where is what moves forward?
The trees know it is early to wake up.
In the depth of a mirror mottled with stains
The wind makes a measured noise.
There is a certain rhythm in anxiety.
Summer, organize a soundless holiday with a forest at night.
Hidden behind a gray facade,
Ivy. I gathered it on the river bank.
In the house a window
Rain ran over a keyboard of leaves.
I strain to listen for an imagined world:
Hands reach out. You hide yourself deep down.
A tree, keeping in balance,
Oh, why, from where to where
A purple window. A yellow one.
After I caught a conversation in the park,
When the narrator nods off on a mountain of books,
A runner with a flashlight in his head
Windows opening to the east
In open maps the future
. . . and somewhere everyday life turned into a miracle
I want to float downstream
2
A warm center floats up from the skin.
Probably a god is like a dying person
People carry dirt under their nails,
Don't take one last breath - nothing to breathe here.
Earth, dying on the eve of winter,
Someone among the branches
It seems the more room
Over the heads of shriveled apples
Music in the heart gnawing and gnawing.
You are standing on the edge of a cloud,
The sea has enormous lungs
It can take time to choose a beautiful crab
Underneath, in a German-chocolate box
Heavier than age
Wrap up warm -
A morning crossroads. Tea freezes in a little cup.
On the overhang of the entrance
The natives hide a yellow cobra in baskets of bananas,
Tomorrow twenty above
Where is the tail of the fish
A violet sucks up from a saucer yesterday's sea filtered through the earth.
Somebody died.
Sleepless in Tibet just like those here
3
The aircraft of a dragonfly over the river.
The old tree has young leaves.
Slowly revealing itself
Head on shoulders. A shroud on the head.
The sky is a closed window.
To pour out a little from an overflowing heart
On the road people seem eternal
Like a face in a clinic an angel in white
A step away from the epicenter. An unlit courtyard.
The morning is pecked by birds
Wind in the room. rain
Trying other people's heads
A grim game on the rim.
In a sandbox under the playground mushroom
When the memory is not the same and hands are not the same
From resurrection to sunday
A flock of crows from the shores of the horizon
This city is flooded in a radiant glow
First a flood and finally a fly-boy
The house-ark sheets swelled like sails
God
Pushed away from an old ship
When the body dies, eagles and fish dine well,
First at a call a large lion's
Notes
Biographical Notes
1
Walking like a camel
Where is it, where is what moves forward?
The trees know it is early to wake up.
In the depth of a mirror mottled with stains
The wind makes a measured noise.
There is a certain rhythm in anxiety.
Summer, organize a soundless holiday with a forest at night.
Hidden behind a gray facade,
Ivy. I gathered it on the river bank.
In the house a window
Rain ran over a keyboard of leaves.
I strain to listen for an imagined world:
Hands reach out. You hide yourself deep down.
A tree, keeping in balance,
Oh, why, from where to where
A purple window. A yellow one.
After I caught a conversation in the park,
When the narrator nods off on a mountain of books,
A runner with a flashlight in his head
Windows opening to the east
In open maps the future
. . . and somewhere everyday life turned into a miracle
I want to float downstream
2
A warm center floats up from the skin.
Probably a god is like a dying person
People carry dirt under their nails,
Don't take one last breath - nothing to breathe here.
Earth, dying on the eve of winter,
Someone among the branches
It seems the more room
Over the heads of shriveled apples
Music in the heart gnawing and gnawing.
You are standing on the edge of a cloud,
The sea has enormous lungs
It can take time to choose a beautiful crab
Underneath, in a German-chocolate box
Heavier than age
Wrap up warm -
A morning crossroads. Tea freezes in a little cup.
On the overhang of the entrance
The natives hide a yellow cobra in baskets of bananas,
Tomorrow twenty above
Where is the tail of the fish
A violet sucks up from a saucer yesterday's sea filtered through the earth.
Somebody died.
Sleepless in Tibet just like those here
3
The aircraft of a dragonfly over the river.
The old tree has young leaves.
Slowly revealing itself
Head on shoulders. A shroud on the head.
The sky is a closed window.
To pour out a little from an overflowing heart
On the road people seem eternal
Like a face in a clinic an angel in white
A step away from the epicenter. An unlit courtyard.
The morning is pecked by birds
Wind in the room. rain
Trying other people's heads
A grim game on the rim.
In a sandbox under the playground mushroom
When the memory is not the same and hands are not the same
From resurrection to sunday
A flock of crows from the shores of the horizon
This city is flooded in a radiant glow
First a flood and finally a fly-boy
The house-ark sheets swelled like sails
God
Pushed away from an old ship
When the body dies, eagles and fish dine well,
First at a call a large lion's
Notes
Biographical Notes