Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Henrik Nordbrandt

AT THE GATE

1.
In the dream
at the gate to your grave
you stopped me
with the same words
I had spoken in a dream
where I died before you

so now I can no longer dream.


2.
Rusty, and on squeaky hinges
all the gates I have ever
seen, heard, or described
closed one by one
under a grey sky.

That is all there was
in my mind, earth.


3.
What can I say about the world
in which your ashes sit in an urn
other than that?


4.
On every trip you stay ahead of me.
On platforms I see your footprints in fresh snow.
When the train starts to move
you jump out of the back carriage

to reach the next station ahead of me.


5.
Outside the small towns with their sleepy street lights:
stadiums bright as capitols.

The lights glinted off your glasses.

Where else should you look for the ring
which, the night the power went out,
rolled under the bed and was gone?


6.
“I miss you, too”
were my last words
on the telephone
when you said you missed me.
I miss you too, Forever!


7.
You are gone.

Three words. And not one
of them
exists now in any

other context.

BIJ DE INGANG

1.
In de droom
bij de ingang van je graf
hield je me tegen
met dezelfde woorden die ik zelf
in een droom had uitgesproken
waar ik dood voor je was

zodat ik niet meer kan dromen


2.
Verroest en aan schreeuwende scharnieren
sloegen alle hekken die ik ooit
had gezien, gehoord of beschreven
een voor een
dicht onder de grijze hemel.

Toen was alles wat er bestond
in mijn bewustzijn, aarde.


3.
wat moet ik zegen over die wereld
waar jouw as in een urn staat
behalve dit?


4.
Op iedere reis reis jij vooruit.
Op de perrons zie ik je sporen in de verse sneeuw.
Als de trein begint te rijden
spring jij uit de achterste wagon

om vóór mij op het volgende station te zijn.


5.
Buiten de kleine stadjes
met hun slaperige straatlantaarns:
stadions stralend als hoofdsteden.

Je brillenglazen glimmen onder de projectoren.

Waar zou je anders moeten zoeken naar de ring
die die nacht toen de stroom ophield
onder het bed rolde en weg was?


6.
“Van hetzelfde.”
waren mijn laatste woorden aan jou
door de telefoon
toen je zei dat je me miste.
Van hetzelfde, Eeuwigheid!


7.
Je bent weg.

Drie woorden. En geen één
daarvan
bestaat nu in enig

ander verband.

VED INDGANGEN

1.
I drømmen
ved indgangen til din grav
standsede du mig
med de samme ord, som jeg selv
havde udtalt i en drøm
hvor jeg var død før dig

så jeg ikke længere kan drømme.


2.
Rustne, og på skrigende hængsler
slog alle de låger jeg nogensinde
havde set, hørt eller beskrevet
én efter én
i under den grå himmel.

Da var alt hvad der fandtes
i min bevidsthed, jord.


3.
Hvad skal jeg sige om den verden
hvor din aske står i en urne
andet end dette?


4.
På hver rejse rejser du i forvejen.
På perronerne ser jeg dine spor i nysneen.
Når toget går i gang
Springer du ud af den bageste vogn

For at komme frem til næste station før mig.


5.
Udenfor de små byer med deres søvnige gadelamper:
sportstadions så strålende som hovedstæder.

Dine brilleglas glimter under projektørerne.

Hvor skulle de ellers lede efter ringen
der den nat, hvor strømmen svigtede
trillede ind under sengen og var væk?


6.
“I lige måde.”
var mine sidste ord til dig
i telefonen
da du sagde, du savnede mig.
I lige måde, Evighed!


7.
Du er væk.

Tre ord. Og ikke ét
af dem
findes nu i nogen

anden sammenhæng.
Close

AT THE GATE

1.
In the dream
at the gate to your grave
you stopped me
with the same words
I had spoken in a dream
where I died before you

so now I can no longer dream.


2.
Rusty, and on squeaky hinges
all the gates I have ever
seen, heard, or described
closed one by one
under a grey sky.

That is all there was
in my mind, earth.


3.
What can I say about the world
in which your ashes sit in an urn
other than that?


4.
On every trip you stay ahead of me.
On platforms I see your footprints in fresh snow.
When the train starts to move
you jump out of the back carriage

to reach the next station ahead of me.


5.
Outside the small towns with their sleepy street lights:
stadiums bright as capitols.

The lights glinted off your glasses.

Where else should you look for the ring
which, the night the power went out,
rolled under the bed and was gone?


6.
“I miss you, too”
were my last words
on the telephone
when you said you missed me.
I miss you too, Forever!


7.
You are gone.

Three words. And not one
of them
exists now in any

other context.

AT THE GATE

1.
In the dream
at the gate to your grave
you stopped me
with the same words
I had spoken in a dream
where I died before you

so now I can no longer dream.


2.
Rusty, and on squeaky hinges
all the gates I have ever
seen, heard, or described
closed one by one
under a grey sky.

That is all there was
in my mind, earth.


3.
What can I say about the world
in which your ashes sit in an urn
other than that?


4.
On every trip you stay ahead of me.
On platforms I see your footprints in fresh snow.
When the train starts to move
you jump out of the back carriage

to reach the next station ahead of me.


5.
Outside the small towns with their sleepy street lights:
stadiums bright as capitols.

The lights glinted off your glasses.

Where else should you look for the ring
which, the night the power went out,
rolled under the bed and was gone?


6.
“I miss you, too”
were my last words
on the telephone
when you said you missed me.
I miss you too, Forever!


7.
You are gone.

Three words. And not one
of them
exists now in any

other context.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère