Translated by Péter Török & Timur Bék
Hold me, dear, because I am bending,
and if I bent, sooner or later
I would break and you wouldn’t need me –
even I have no need for myself broken,
especially if I break myself.
Now, isolate me from this place,
now, perceive and memorize
the vast void that surrounds me,
how coldly the wind blows inside me.
I ask them about a movie,
and they tell me their own history.
Save me here, under the bridge,
where the concrete is burdened by waves,
and to shine I look into the lamp’s eyes.
Leave me, leave me under the bridge,
if I shivered, I’d bathe in the light,
from the concrete, I’d learn the brine.
I was right before,
it’s terrible to admit, to recognize
the monster’s color in the rapture (and conversely);
not a big deal, really, scant for a poem,
but this has always been about attraction,
and will never be about anything else.
Hold me, darling, I tell you,
I’m about to tumble,
and for such light bodies
it takes forever to fall.