Inventory of the world

Poem By Hendrik Jackson

travels? voices? (buzzing wires) - on landing you looked: heavenwards
in flight perhaps you belonged to the inventory of the world, in the child's
at first the panorama lies there like a lizard, then suddenly it's whizzing past
a gradual fading of intensities, dread shimmered in the glass
(bobeobi peli guby) you hummed. all we do anyway is animate strange
gleaming between global vacancies (straw dolls aflame) but
sucking on melancholy or crowning the kingfisher bird of the year
- is one and the same. like in endless loops, overcast state of emergency:
totally fogged (a mail) autumn burns into view wafting out the cockpit door.

Translated by Nicholas Grindell

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again the dream collapses, overwhelmed from affections
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the word that does not come to pass -
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I live within crumbling walls of medieval crudeness.
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