Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Ann Cotten

I HAVE BAD FEET

I have bad feet
                                                                             I practice verse
unmissed am I
                                                                             where strange lands were
I set utopian desire
lap words and never tire


I have bad feet
                                                                             am writing
if asked and what I do
                                                                              is seldom true
in any name or calculation
or trodden paths’ elation


I have bad feet
                                                                             the verses, ugly,
carry me at least
                                                                             a little bit
but not quite up to where my friends
look friendly over gold-rimmed ends


most of the time I tire before
                                                                             and my feet are
dirty and swollen
                                                                             and full of bile
I land in my own kitchen, drink
at midnight in a glass of milk

ICH HABE KEINE SCHÖNEN FÜßE

ICH HABE KEINE SCHÖNEN FÜßE

Ich habe keine schönen Füße
                                                                               ich übe Verse
Niemand vermisst mich wo ich stehe
                                                                               wo Fremde wäre
bin ich und wünsche Atopie
lappende Wörter Ende nie


Ich habe keine schönen Füße
                                                                               bin Dichterin
wenn jemand fragt und was ich tue
                                                                               geht selten auf
bezeichenbar oder in Rechenschritten
auf Trampelpfaden und inmitten


Ich habe keine schönen Füße
                                                                               die Verse unschön
doch tragen sie mich immerhin
                                                                               ein Weilchen weiter
doch kaum bis in Zivilisationsgefilde
wo Freunde freundschaftlich im Bilde


Meist bin ich vorher schon ermüdet
                                                                                und meine Füße
verdreckt und angeschwollen   
                                                                               voller Gift
land in der eignen Küche ich
und trinke mitternächtlich mich
Close

I HAVE BAD FEET

I have bad feet
                                                                             I practice verse
unmissed am I
                                                                             where strange lands were
I set utopian desire
lap words and never tire


I have bad feet
                                                                             am writing
if asked and what I do
                                                                              is seldom true
in any name or calculation
or trodden paths’ elation


I have bad feet
                                                                             the verses, ugly,
carry me at least
                                                                             a little bit
but not quite up to where my friends
look friendly over gold-rimmed ends


most of the time I tire before
                                                                             and my feet are
dirty and swollen
                                                                             and full of bile
I land in my own kitchen, drink
at midnight in a glass of milk

I HAVE BAD FEET

I have bad feet
                                                                             I practice verse
unmissed am I
                                                                             where strange lands were
I set utopian desire
lap words and never tire


I have bad feet
                                                                             am writing
if asked and what I do
                                                                              is seldom true
in any name or calculation
or trodden paths’ elation


I have bad feet
                                                                             the verses, ugly,
carry me at least
                                                                             a little bit
but not quite up to where my friends
look friendly over gold-rimmed ends


most of the time I tire before
                                                                             and my feet are
dirty and swollen
                                                                             and full of bile
I land in my own kitchen, drink
at midnight in a glass of milk
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