::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::