Poem
Ulrike Draesner
BAVARIAN SHORE-LANDS (MUCKED ODELETTE)
this was the dust flickering golden: on the pathsthe verges the little christ’s heads cracked in two
– and the south too the alps the shadow there
had a sea.
let’s moonshine schnapps the pears are turning
church-wall yellow, the towers sporting their onions. earth
dreaming was material. grandfather s. took the hands of women
he caught
in plaster cast. crossing the meadows through large-pored dust
one or two got away. pish-the-bed. pussy-toes.
his share lay handy in the attic, a fingers’ dream in white
he barely
dreamed. mighty through cauliflower leaves by the abbey shimmer
the souls of the village. a sow littered in all the colours of the rainworm
and leashes of rain joined the upper and lower provinces the
bavarian
shore-lands. the way the hillside graveyard slips and the fields
skew to a single sound like craw-craw-craw’s-taes and wirsels
yoursels thonsgranweans and my head are drawn by the clouds
across the mucked paths
this loving dust.
© Translation: 2012, Iain Galbraith
beiers zeeland (gierodetje)
dat was het gouden trillende stof: op de landwegende hellingen de christusschedeltjes gespleten
– ook daarbeneden het zuiden, de bergen, de schaduw
hadden hun zee.
wij willen schnaps gaan stoken, peren keren
weer in het kerkgeel, torens dragen uien. van aarde
dromen was stof. mijn opa s. nam de handen van de vrouwen
die hij ving
af in gips. over de weilanden het grofporige stof
ontsprongen sommige van hen de dans. rozenkransje. papenkruid.
wat je kreeg lag manueel in de schuur, wit dromende vingers
nauwelijks droomde
hij. machtig bij het klooster schemerden door de romanesco
de zielen van het dorp. een zeug wierp biggetjes in alle regenwormkleuren
en draadjesregen verbond de bovenste en onderste provincies
beiers –
zeeland. wat glibbert het kerkhof langs de heuvel en de velden
wervelt een oerklank als w-w-wederik de hiergeborenen de die-van-
hierigen, de kwart-de-zijnen door het hoofd wolkt
over de gegierde landwegen
het liefhebbende stof.
© Vertaling: 2012, Ard Posthuma
bayrisch-seeland (ödelchen)
das war der golden zittrige staub: auf den wegenden rainen die kleinen christusschädel gespalten
– auch da unten der süden, die berge, der schatten
hatten ein meer.
wir wollen schnaps brennen gehen, birnen kehren
wieder im kirchgelb, türme tragen zwiebeln. von erde
zu träumen war stoff. großvater s. nahm die hände der frauen
die er fing
ab in gips. über die wiesen den großporigen staub
sprang manche ihm davon. millischeckerl. katzenpratzerl.
was zukam lag händisch im speicher, weiß träumende finger
kaum träumte
er. mächtig beim kloster schimmerten durch den karfiol
die seelen des dorfs. eine sau warf ferkel in allen regenwurmfarben
und schnürlregen verband die oberen und unteren provinzen
bayrisch –
seeland. was rutscht der friedhof am hang und die felder
verdreht ein einfacher laut wie w– w– wetterbleaml den hiasigen
hinnigen, den vierteldenseinen mir kopf ziehen die wolken über
die geodelten wege
den liebenden staub.
© 2008, Ulrike Draesner
From: berührte orte
Publisher: Luchterhand Verlag, Munich
From: berührte orte
Publisher: Luchterhand Verlag, Munich
Poems
Poems of Ulrike Draesner
Close
BAVARIAN SHORE-LANDS (MUCKED ODELETTE)
this was the dust flickering golden: on the pathsthe verges the little christ’s heads cracked in two
– and the south too the alps the shadow there
had a sea.
let’s moonshine schnapps the pears are turning
church-wall yellow, the towers sporting their onions. earth
dreaming was material. grandfather s. took the hands of women
he caught
in plaster cast. crossing the meadows through large-pored dust
one or two got away. pish-the-bed. pussy-toes.
his share lay handy in the attic, a fingers’ dream in white
he barely
dreamed. mighty through cauliflower leaves by the abbey shimmer
the souls of the village. a sow littered in all the colours of the rainworm
and leashes of rain joined the upper and lower provinces the
bavarian
shore-lands. the way the hillside graveyard slips and the fields
skew to a single sound like craw-craw-craw’s-taes and wirsels
yoursels thonsgranweans and my head are drawn by the clouds
across the mucked paths
this loving dust.
© 2012, Iain Galbraith
From: berührte orte
From: berührte orte
BAVARIAN SHORE-LANDS (MUCKED ODELETTE)
this was the dust flickering golden: on the pathsthe verges the little christ’s heads cracked in two
– and the south too the alps the shadow there
had a sea.
let’s moonshine schnapps the pears are turning
church-wall yellow, the towers sporting their onions. earth
dreaming was material. grandfather s. took the hands of women
he caught
in plaster cast. crossing the meadows through large-pored dust
one or two got away. pish-the-bed. pussy-toes.
his share lay handy in the attic, a fingers’ dream in white
he barely
dreamed. mighty through cauliflower leaves by the abbey shimmer
the souls of the village. a sow littered in all the colours of the rainworm
and leashes of rain joined the upper and lower provinces the
bavarian
shore-lands. the way the hillside graveyard slips and the fields
skew to a single sound like craw-craw-craw’s-taes and wirsels
yoursels thonsgranweans and my head are drawn by the clouds
across the mucked paths
this loving dust.
© 2012, Iain Galbraith
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