::English ::            Deutsch :: Mакедонски ::

 

:45::Jürgen Nendza :: Irena Paskali::

 

EVERY DAY the edge of memory shifts

and what we wanted to say: the apple

 

doesn’t know that time recites us. In our hands

a huge lake sweats, and the world

 

begins again as fine as a whisper

over the garden gate, like a spider’s web

 

that hangs up a centre in the air, lying in wait

for a connection. We think ourselves in sequences

 

the table laid, and when silence opens,

in the street love goes to the baker’s

 

dumb as a deer. A shiver crosses the wallpaper.

What´s difficult  now is the blackbird.

 

::English translation by Richard Martin::

 

Drawing ::Irena Paskali::