THE MAN WHO HANGED HIMSELF
(from “Self-Murderers”)
look here—you hang
like some tropical fruit
that has already gone
slightly rotten
or like an electric bulb
with a small fly of fright
thrashing about
in the bulb’s viscera
among the hushing
molecules
or in other words
you wriggle like a worm
on the hook
of your own demise
you’re a shiny earring
worn by your death
such a disgusting view
the ten-story
building of your body
has sagged and shrunk
and looks pinched
only the nails
on your fingers and toes
continue to grow
slowly
and finally some plant breeder
will break you in two
like an apple
he’ll see your lungs
pregnant with the last air
translated by Alan Zhukovski
written by Serhiy Zhadan
Alan Zhukovski is a poet and translator. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in the New Statesman, Ambit, The London Magazine, The Threepenny Review, Agenda, Tin House, Oxford Poetry, Acumen, Plume, Gulf Coast, Asymptote, Orbis, Blackbird, The Fortnightly Review, and elsewhere.