Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Ann Cotten

TSVARNOHARNO, GO!

Calmly, step by step, I now approach the clearing
in which you will admit to being myrtle:
not sign, you are a plant of fond intelligence
made green by education, as by nature.

How this walking beautifies my living,
I am pinched by the twigs of how you think!
The shine of your heart, your logic’s foolishness
revive me, and I continue in this direction.

And if a leather jacket blocks my way
to take my little fag out of the world
and if an officer feels taken on a soeur
because I thought good to talk him down
my soul says, him, he have nothing to say
who dare to stroke a steeled soul the wrong way.

TSVARNOHARNO, FORT!

TSVARNOHARNO, FORT!

Gelassnen Schrittes schreit ich auf die Lichtung zu,
in der du zugibst, dass du Myrthe bist:
kein Zeichen, ein Gewächs zärtlicher Schönheit
vom grauen Flaum der Bildung wie Natur begrünt.

Wie dies Spazierengehn mein Leben schönt!
Mich kneifen deines Verstandes Ästchen!
Durch deinen Herzglanz, deiner Logik Torheit
geh ich erkleckt in jene Richtung zu,

und baut sich eine Lederjacke vor mir auf,
mir meine Zigarette aus der Welt zu nehmen,
und fühlt sich ein Beamter auf den Schirm getreten,
weil ich mir anmaß, schlau zu ihm zu reden,
spricht meine Seele, jener habe nichts zu sagen,
der wagt, eine gestählte Seele anzuklagen.
Close

TSVARNOHARNO, GO!

Calmly, step by step, I now approach the clearing
in which you will admit to being myrtle:
not sign, you are a plant of fond intelligence
made green by education, as by nature.

How this walking beautifies my living,
I am pinched by the twigs of how you think!
The shine of your heart, your logic’s foolishness
revive me, and I continue in this direction.

And if a leather jacket blocks my way
to take my little fag out of the world
and if an officer feels taken on a soeur
because I thought good to talk him down
my soul says, him, he have nothing to say
who dare to stroke a steeled soul the wrong way.

TSVARNOHARNO, GO!

Calmly, step by step, I now approach the clearing
in which you will admit to being myrtle:
not sign, you are a plant of fond intelligence
made green by education, as by nature.

How this walking beautifies my living,
I am pinched by the twigs of how you think!
The shine of your heart, your logic’s foolishness
revive me, and I continue in this direction.

And if a leather jacket blocks my way
to take my little fag out of the world
and if an officer feels taken on a soeur
because I thought good to talk him down
my soul says, him, he have nothing to say
who dare to stroke a steeled soul the wrong way.
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