06-27-2016, 08:01 PM
Claim - Ruth Lasters - translator: Paul Vincent
If I were a road, I’d claim the right to strike. Occasionally not having to run
dumbly from point A to point B, but suddenly
bend to an elsewhere, unspecified, without destination, landmarks. Full of people
who from purposeful travel, all at once stray into
a quite absolute stasis. And a poet who then whispers a
direction in their ear, hints on orientation
though on condition that they recite by heart
a poem of his, for example this (Slower!
Softer! Pauses for breath!) Be warned: at each wrongly
mumbled line, the road will fork and twist
still further.
Moving on - Ruth Lasters - translator: Paul Vincent
If moving on seems impossible, then choose one single
moving on, one splendidly
stubborn deed, if need be: hearing fizzy water every midnight
exploding bubbles, a sort of star-listening
instead of star-gazing. If moving on is impossible,
then choose one journey backward to a moment when
all the ‘one days’ you were promised suddenly became now,
perhaps to that morning when ambition was just
growing with you like grey mould
through a loaf.