Poem
Ulrike Draesner
HIDING
as a haughty horse (and foreign tongue) swayingand stiff regrettably not in the taxi but in my house
now ingressed it was other women my husband
undressed. the room encrusted with fibrous walls so
you couldn’t walk you had to fly the others
(in flight) had him fused to the telephone when
i in the darkness of this all-out scrabble became
the prince who endured no gaze, panoplied in a fuck-
spotted pony’s coat. i’ll show you, my husband said, the
variety of your own inward pitfalls hyperreal you are
the wall the armchair the snake and too true
the way your little soul palish yet again, maggoty-girlish
follows its own big swollen eyes across the flokati
are you seriously trying to force it? i thought of
the old mole-game, one of us bashing down the dark hills
the other controlling the computer dvd. it was about
a blind thing forced back into its hole that practically
suffocates but still tenderly rowing tries to crawl
right around the earth
© Translation: 2012, Iain Galbraith
jezelf verstoppen
als haughty horse (vreemde taal) wiegenden stijf helaas niet in een taxi maar in mijn huis
al ingetrokken trok mijn man andere vrouwen
uit. de kamer verkorstte in vezelige wanden dat je
‘geen kant op kon’ dat je ‘moest vliegen’ de anderen
(ontvluchten) hadden een telefoon met hem versmolten toen
werd in het duister van de algehele klimpartij ik
de prins die de aanblik niet aankon, gewapend in een sperma-
vlekkige ponyvacht. wees je bewust van al
je innerlijke valkuilen zei mijn man hyperreëel ben je
de muur de fauteuil de slang en jaweljawel
juffertje pruil dat weer eens witjes, made madelief
haar eigen opgezwollen ogen over de flokati laat
dwalen. wil je het er echt inrammen? toen dacht ik aan
het oude slademolspel, je mepte op de donkere hoopjes
de ander bespeelde de cd in de computer, het ging om
iets blinds wat teruggedrukt in zijn hol bijna stikt
maar nog altijd liefdevol roeiend een keer om de hele aarde
probeert te kruipen
© Vertaling: 2012, Ard Posthuma
SICH VERSTECKEN
als haughty horse (fremdsprache) schwankendund steif leider nicht im taxi sondern in meinem
haus schon eingezogen zog mein mann andere frauen
aus. das zimmer verkrustete in fasrige wände dass man
nicht gehen könne dass man fliegen müsse die anderen
(fliehen) hatten ein telefon mit ihm verschmolzen da
wurde in der dunkelheit des allgemeinen kletterns ich
der prinz der den blick nicht ertrug, gerüstet in eines fleck-
gefickten ponys fell. zeige dir sagte mein mann die vielfalt
deiner eigenen inneren fallen hyperreal bist du
die wand der sessel die schlange und ebeneben
das seelchen wie es wieder nur weißlich, made mädlein
den eigenen großen gequollenen augen über den flokati
folgt. willst du’s wirklich erhämmern? da dachte ich an
das alte maulwurfspiel, man schlug die dunklen hügel ein
der andere steuerte die cd im computer. es ging um
blindes das zurückgedrückt in seine höhle fast erstickt
doch noch immer zärtlich rudernd die erde einmal ganz
zu umkriechen versucht
© 2012, Ulrike Draesner
Poems
Poems of Ulrike Draesner
Close
HIDING
as a haughty horse (and foreign tongue) swayingand stiff regrettably not in the taxi but in my house
now ingressed it was other women my husband
undressed. the room encrusted with fibrous walls so
you couldn’t walk you had to fly the others
(in flight) had him fused to the telephone when
i in the darkness of this all-out scrabble became
the prince who endured no gaze, panoplied in a fuck-
spotted pony’s coat. i’ll show you, my husband said, the
variety of your own inward pitfalls hyperreal you are
the wall the armchair the snake and too true
the way your little soul palish yet again, maggoty-girlish
follows its own big swollen eyes across the flokati
are you seriously trying to force it? i thought of
the old mole-game, one of us bashing down the dark hills
the other controlling the computer dvd. it was about
a blind thing forced back into its hole that practically
suffocates but still tenderly rowing tries to crawl
right around the earth
© 2012, Iain Galbraith
HIDING
as a haughty horse (and foreign tongue) swayingand stiff regrettably not in the taxi but in my house
now ingressed it was other women my husband
undressed. the room encrusted with fibrous walls so
you couldn’t walk you had to fly the others
(in flight) had him fused to the telephone when
i in the darkness of this all-out scrabble became
the prince who endured no gaze, panoplied in a fuck-
spotted pony’s coat. i’ll show you, my husband said, the
variety of your own inward pitfalls hyperreal you are
the wall the armchair the snake and too true
the way your little soul palish yet again, maggoty-girlish
follows its own big swollen eyes across the flokati
are you seriously trying to force it? i thought of
the old mole-game, one of us bashing down the dark hills
the other controlling the computer dvd. it was about
a blind thing forced back into its hole that practically
suffocates but still tenderly rowing tries to crawl
right around the earth
© 2012, Iain Galbraith
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