Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Ulrike Draesner

BAVARIAN SHORE-LANDS (MUCKED ODELETTE)

this was the dust flickering golden: on the paths
the 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.

beiers zeeland (gierodetje)

dat was het gouden trillende stof: op de landwegen
de 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.

bayrisch-seeland (ödelchen)

das war der golden zittrige staub: auf den wegen
den 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.
Close

BAVARIAN SHORE-LANDS (MUCKED ODELETTE)

this was the dust flickering golden: on the paths
the 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.

BAVARIAN SHORE-LANDS (MUCKED ODELETTE)

this was the dust flickering golden: on the paths
the 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.
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