Asia Obstarczyk – six poems


wind opens the door. we’ve probably done all we could

shooting one another, like prophets. we hid our treasure

in ridged bark. let those who don’t count look for one another.

the ones who won’t pay. exorbitant sums and masses

will always collide, dear appalled woman.

let’s then let those who don’t count seek for themselves. and why

shouldn’t you buy a bottle of chilli? you’ll visit germany

and get married? go put some iodine on your eye lids

and take a walk. your back to the moon. the sky is after all



and now to the mundane. come down from the roof woman.

you’re no comic book heroine though you speak in bubbles.

notoriously. the way happens to follow a crack in the niche,

our allies will say it is so when the wind carries streets on

further: leaves to base – base to heaven. it’s now. a triangle

and that’s it? a tangible something misses the point and this

must be enough for you. for now look about just like that. in fact,

we are in a desert, dear visualised female.

they’ve gone from here. a snake made of gold dust, sat himself

on his head just so. camels have taken up a dreaming position

while rains of grass hoppers fly towards the flash


line rider

today, you’ll be fragrant and willing, a woman

pliant and flexible. bend yourself carefully,

the challenge is to dose with caution.

let’s say the passage appears. and there

the phantom sent down to the swelled balcony

tries to transcribe you onto waves of navy

syllable by syllable, condemned to thought

less schemes which act like breakers in a socket

yes, and

I possess rhythm. I invert the chessboard,

parting the walls and wondering at myself.

what involvement etches these diagrams:

do you want to be my mate? a checked bishop?

you must be born, move, free from base,

death carries sequences and repeats series.

and yesterday, woman, your body acted upon

dreams threaded along syncretic lines

mystic diversions

and you’re back? don’t move. in this silentsteel house between floors

links showing off a ghostly ball. the lift empty, and the upholsterer outside

the window managed to imprint a shadow on the azure sari.

attraction works. it seems the roof did not last the winter and fell

on hans at lunchtime. meanwhile, you made it back from delhi, aired the

upper violet tracts, dispelled the mists.

breathe evenly, nothing will harm you, out of the hype emerges a jasmine girl

who will soothe, will dance a laugh. reel around, life is also about

having your own territory, fun and line

to own holes.


you’re pitiful, girl. fawning like leaves in hair.

you must control your movements, nef. fragmentally.

and that which you see has the parameters of a cage, is exposed

and is called a dream.

by night we will be hit back. the disk will let slip some

cream cows, their eyelashes fluttering against the winds.

just like immovable goddesses on meadows. nef,

I like to laugh along with you. but go to sleep. for here comes

a siesta session, a red sun beneath the bathrobe lining,

which goes loose and wanders like any day. and again

your speech goes tumbling. apply a filter, paper

and dew on your lips. and silence this now woman.


we’re taking a walk, the rain has stopped

and the square glistens profoundly. take care,

the sun burns your back by surprise.

one day, I will go past the end. the mat

dragging along the corridor, and there

I’ll ask for the niche. an extra breath.

confide in me. oh hermetic woman, show me

where the poppies bloom. I have no faces left.

this town is like a silent film, every single day

the same flow tries to shadow the scenery,

take out another leaf. the lips spilling the same,

lining up shouts. turn me out. lose

as the hand-outs start, synchronized

cage by cage.

translated by Marek Kazmierski

Asia Obstarczyk – born in 1976, has lived in Belgium for the past seven years where she also became friends with poetry: nostalgia has got her writing. By day, she is a musician and the occasional translator of Dutch writings.

Asia Obstarczyk – Urodzona w 1976, od siedmiu lat mieszka w Belgii i tutaj też zaprzyjaźniła się z poezją: z nostalgii zaczęła pisać wiersze. Na co dzień zajmuje ją muzyka a okazjonalnie tłumaczenia niderlandzkie.