Adriána Kóbor

from Cléverre


the vulnerability representing the highest reported value — fragile — the icy
before the first kiss wickability is the single factor — whoosing
after the last a phenomenological parameter — wind's
devouring dance structured superhydrophilic surfaces — rewind
of the evil; you are eager to enhanced wetting properties — fast
dance at last — to increase the pool boiling critical heat flux — forward AK

               Wernher von Braun standing next to the F-1 Engines which took man to the moon. (1969)

               STREET SPIRIT Radiohead https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LCJblaUkkfc


Can you see that, my self inflicted North?
Directions are pathetically implicative.
Directions are pluripotently unilinear.
Directions are liers,
like you to me, me to you. A mouth pro-
found and fond of a heart that doesn't
speak me. It. Ever.

Have you?

Then, seven times in the beetle juice
you suffocate, suffer like a damn
clover with not one leaf left.
I don't have no other life than
the Odd-her-life itself.
Hands touch. Crazy noon.

All that concrete in your eyes,
I called silicone, Baby,
although I had dreamt them
silly coons, a bad handwork
off the languid, non-explicit
language, a bad tongue job
on the hands. I'll miss that,

Toggling your body into the port,
wasn't that much of a fun.

You wouldn't want me being sad
about your dead body — a bold case for
fucking, ye' sewed. My words are
the temperated dispatch between
the tempered distance and the red
looking glass. I could never give up.
Minimalism, even. Either. Nor.

What you wish me, to be me; can you operate the ship?
Can you photograph my levers? Can you enfold me
in the manic kind of a wish dam? Now and ever:
I must be me for just a glimpse of.

Our future, C., is a touching point between point
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvxy. Nothing can be
once more a becoming: a non-hesitating
coincidence. I have been.

So this lustful silence — when it becomes whole,
not just a hole in the wall, in a sanctuary
where appeasement doesn't equal torture,
right behind that door, can you see through?
You cannot. Now, you can have all your false
typos and hypotheses. I am the one who is sick,
not you. Nevertheless, I was guarding above you
like an angel. One more limited moment for…

The writer, who sanctified herself
for the most vivid video angles —
heavens nor hells! deep would
that be — the stretches like
the dead animals. Rembrandt's things.

Quantify my lines into fluid distresses. Distress me,
redress me, wake me up, make me up,
and send her to the florist.
Buy her flowers. Lick her feet. Not so.

In the bell tower the dog is always hungry.

So, that happens to love —
dog's are man's besties;
tryings to become. 

* Nooit oorlog zonder wapens. 'Never Eat Soggy Waffles' (Never Eat Soggy Weetbix), mnemonic to memorize

Adriána Kóbor (b. Hungary, 1988), is a (visual) poet, multimedia artist active in the Netherlands and Belgium from 2006 till 2018; in Italy from 2018 till 2023. Her poems aim to explore and extend the boundaries of language. The major part of her work is written in English, though she creates in other languages, as well — Dutch, Hungarian, Italian, etc. Her published works include prose and poetry, visual works, collage, (analog) photographs, and various collaborations with other visual artists. Some of her manuscripts are already in book form; others are waiting to be pulled through the press.
previous page     contents     next page


Post a Comment

<< Home