Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Uljana Wolf

postscript to the kreisau dogs

who says that poems are like these dogs
surrounded by their own echo at the village core

of the waiting and pawing at half moon
of the stubborn marking of language terrains –

he knows you not, you frantic barkers
cassandras in wallachia’s sonic reverie

you bring what’s called and what’s calf
in a foolhardy bite from behind

together as if a leg were but a leaf
and the order of things a trade:

in one of my boots still the imprint
of your teeth, a gnarly four nips

that’s your reward for a pursuant verse
the world follows poetry at heel

nachtrag an die kreisauer hunde

nachtrag an die kreisauer hunde

wer sagt gedichte sind wie diese hunde
im dorfkern vom eignen echo umstellt

vom warten und scharren bei halbmond
vom sturen markieren im sprachrevier

der kennt euch nicht ihr rasenden kläffer
kassandren im lautrausch der wallachei

denn ihr fügt was wort ist und was wade
hinterrücks in tollkühnem biss

zusammen als wär ein bein nur ein blatt
und die ordnung der dinge ein tausch:

in meinem stiefel noch der abdruck
eurer zähne – vom tacker vier zwacken

so lohnt ihr dem vers der euch nachlief
folgt welt wohl der dichtung     bei fuß
Close

postscript to the kreisau dogs

who says that poems are like these dogs
surrounded by their own echo at the village core

of the waiting and pawing at half moon
of the stubborn marking of language terrains –

he knows you not, you frantic barkers
cassandras in wallachia’s sonic reverie

you bring what’s called and what’s calf
in a foolhardy bite from behind

together as if a leg were but a leaf
and the order of things a trade:

in one of my boots still the imprint
of your teeth, a gnarly four nips

that’s your reward for a pursuant verse
the world follows poetry at heel

postscript to the kreisau dogs

who says that poems are like these dogs
surrounded by their own echo at the village core

of the waiting and pawing at half moon
of the stubborn marking of language terrains –

he knows you not, you frantic barkers
cassandras in wallachia’s sonic reverie

you bring what’s called and what’s calf
in a foolhardy bite from behind

together as if a leg were but a leaf
and the order of things a trade:

in one of my boots still the imprint
of your teeth, a gnarly four nips

that’s your reward for a pursuant verse
the world follows poetry at heel
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