Poem
Uljana Wolf
C
what a false friend, this chef, this boss, this kitchen man or bessie’s beau: i’ll gobble you, love, and leave the hole. love is a donut, by which i mean: do nut go, or i’ll go nuts. or so the song goes through kitchens and guts, we haven’t yet sung of clammy hands. the men were all called sam, and lord, how they could open clam, their other kooky crafts we’ll leave unmentioned—or else just hum them, plumply sated, sugar-mouthed.
© Translation: 2011, Susan Bernofsky
From: False Friends
Publisher: Ugly Duckling Presse, New York, 2011
From: False Friends
Publisher: Ugly Duckling Presse, New York, 2011
clam – chef
clam – chef
als boss ein falscher freund, als kitchen man in bessies tross: ein loch, love, ist alles, was blieb. liebe hier gemeint als donut, also known as: du not go. or i'll go nuts. or so it goes. die lieder, durch mägen, küchen. klamme hände kamen darin nicht vor. die männer hießen sam, and lord, how they could open clam. von ihren anderen kooky künsten wollen wir lieber schweigen, oder summen, mit zuckrig vollem mund.
© 2009, kookbooks
From: falsche freunde
Publisher: kookbooks, Idstein
From: falsche freunde
Publisher: kookbooks, Idstein
Poems
Poems of Uljana Wolf
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what a false friend, this chef, this boss, this kitchen man or bessie’s beau: i’ll gobble you, love, and leave the hole. love is a donut, by which i mean: do nut go, or i’ll go nuts. or so the song goes through kitchens and guts, we haven’t yet sung of clammy hands. the men were all called sam, and lord, how they could open clam, their other kooky crafts we’ll leave unmentioned—or else just hum them, plumply sated, sugar-mouthed.
© 2011, Susan Bernofsky
From: False Friends
Publisher: 2011, Ugly Duckling Presse, New York
From: False Friends
Publisher: 2011, Ugly Duckling Presse, New York
C
what a false friend, this chef, this boss, this kitchen man or bessie’s beau: i’ll gobble you, love, and leave the hole. love is a donut, by which i mean: do nut go, or i’ll go nuts. or so the song goes through kitchens and guts, we haven’t yet sung of clammy hands. the men were all called sam, and lord, how they could open clam, their other kooky crafts we’ll leave unmentioned—or else just hum them, plumply sated, sugar-mouthed.
© 2011, Susan Bernofsky
From: False Friends
Publisher: 2011, Ugly Duckling Presse, New York
From: False Friends
Publisher: 2011, Ugly Duckling Presse, New York
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