Читать книгу Continued - Piotr Sommer - Страница 20

After reading certain young authors

I too would like to be an author

and turn out works.

Right now I’m thinking of J.G. —

his happy rhymes, cinematic sentences and

the heroes in his poems, the real ones

and those made up. Because of course

poems have their heroes as well,

some not even all that

likeable. Of the real ones

for instance, I recall

Ezra Pound, whose name

appears in one of the titles,

or that Mid-November Snow

which, before it melted, the author thinks

had blanketed all the evil.

Of the unreal ones Kirillov, a suicide

and yet a builder, or that

professor, what’s his name,

a scholar of seventy now.

And I, what would I write poems about?

I’d have to think,

because in fact I’m fed up with them.

I ask my wife but she just repeats

“What about?” as if she weren’t there.

And a moment later adds: “But if

I tell you what about, you’ll say

we both wrote it, all right?”

I must — she says — remind her

about it in the future, since a person

may sometimes really get hold of an idea,

but most of the time it flies off.