Three poems from “fugitive moons”

Author: Yevgeniy Breyger
Translator: Joscha Klueppel



the spider doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t spin too long. at the bar – plastic caterpillar, you
(in the grass) conceive the divine birth (conceive). hem at the tail.
enveloped in fog – nibelungen fumes – a caterpillar arm, petering out.
twitched in all directions, chirping like a siren.

motion detector, phlegm, or more – who is the child and who is
the wet nurse? then the little one is taken out – so thinly thin – paralyzed
from head to neck, no more than a ward. and then smoke rises up. at first,
even plastics follow time (decay), constructs follow figures –

but not the spider, the spider

doesn’t breathe, unlearns what is substantial. divining regard, the pair
– still plastic – endures the belated exam. oh, caterpillar!
blessed are you in the world, not a hollow spot,
that circles between the planets – not a circle at all – no swallowing

(throatless, too). the caterpillar – briefly lured – is ensnared by sleepsand,
a child arched upward. birth shored up. two dots placed
on a piece of bark (tides) – correctly, even gladly – and then?
from an indefinite height the fall is certain, just spiders – fixed, decay.



oasis – being pregnant – behave yourself. a cork hatches
from bottles unseen – already over – (it can happen that fast).
wraps himself around the thighs. when there’s no cream to eat
even the fattest get thin. whether hand over hand or hanging.

you take it up – take it to heart – for a year but then the laughter’s gone.
for sweeter waters. the search doesn’t have to be a well,
no guarantee there’s even one nearby – corrupt plague.
the winch is measured proportionally, along the shaft

unutterably hard (the wound). you’ll have time for measuring tomorrow,
don’t forget the linen. behave yourself. columns one and two.
an unshared meal is a bitter meal (stays warm longer in the stomach).
familiar melt. wrapped wire around the cross together, too ashamed

to hold it. runoff, osmotic findings, it’s equal to the water level
– zero – a crater, pure and far from point of impact, it was counted off (beaten).
a rhyme, two children an unheard-of sector. and splint of wood, soft slide time.
a house has to be an apartment as well, but not vice versa.



the world was deserted, a star. remote strength
made of crystal (apathetic). a coward – here flotsam – turns up. his gaze
out of the night. out of the dark of night. confessed – a suspicious line –
(no question) i recognize him for what he is. a retiree. traverses

the umpteenth zenith. – distance, shabby – cut.
he recognizes me, too: yes, i believe you’re all young devils. i believe …
look away quick. birds in the mirror. chaos. (the looks are
cooked and gestures come on call). a cuckoo off to the side.

stiff as a turkey – as usual – a pale companion. mostly
crooked back (not quite like me but close).
more of a vice. we’re following him to the treetop now (fly, bird), then rain.
rain once more. that can certainly happen. and shepherd?

the poplar? the oak? – take note of the same – a world
without thoroughness – watch out, confession – a greenworld? no, thanks.
or was he a stork? evidently, we swapped feathers
and leaves: a trap speaks for itself. a stork for the others.


Yevgeniy Breyger,  “flut” (poems 7, 8, 9) in flüchtige monde.  Kookbooks, 2016.