Poem
Durs Grünbein
In Belgium, a man was shot by his dog
In Belgium, a man was shot by his dogas they were just on their way hunting – a newspaper
carried the story under the rubric Funny Old World.
The man from Belgium was at the wheel of his S.U.V.
minding his business, and on the back seat,
next to his rifle, also minding his business, was his faithful dog.
As was their wont, man and dog were looking in the same direction,
at the expanse of forest – the man in silent contemplation,
his hunting dog panting slightly. It was hot. Summer –
the last summer that that man was to experience. Jolted
by the bumpy road, the dog was hurled in the air
and caused the fatal bullet to be discharged at his master.
To think that this brace of Belgians might still be around,
the perfect team, if that hole in the road
hadn’t so abruptly punctured their friendship. Sad.
In België werd een man door zijn trouwe hond
In België werd een man door zijn trouwe hondOp weg naar de jacht doodgeschoten,
Meldt een krant onder Raar maar waar.
De man uit België zat voor het laatst argeloos
In zijn jeep aan het stuur en op de achterbank
Zat, naast het geweer, argeloos de hond.
Gewoontegetrouw keken beiden in de richting
Waar het bos opdoemde, – zwijgzaam de man,
Zijn jachthond hijgend, omdat het zwoel was, zomer.
Voor de man werd het zijn laatste zomer. Verschrikt
Door de hobbelige weg sprong de hond van zijn zetel
En veroorzaakte een schot, dat zijn baasje doodde.
Ach, beide Belgen hadden nog onderweg kunnen zijn,
Het ideale paar, wanneer niet een kuil
De vriendschap domweg had verscheurd. Zonde.
© Vertaling: 1999, Jan H. Mysjkin
From: Aan onze dierbare doden
Publisher: 1999, PoëzieCentrum, Gent
From: Aan onze dierbare doden
Publisher: 1999, PoëzieCentrum, Gent
Ein Mann in Belgien ist von seinem treuen Hund
Erschossen worden auf der Fahrt zur Jagd
Wie eine Zeitung unter Kuriose Welt vermeldet.
Der Mann aus Belgien saß zuletzt in seinem Jeep
Am Steuer ahnungslos und auf der Rücksitzbank,
Die Flinte neben sich, saß ahnungslos der Hund.
Wie immer schauten beide in dieselbe Richtung
Wo sich der Wald hinzog, – schweigsam der Mann,
Sein Jagdhund bechelnd, weil es schwül war, Sommer.
Es war der letzte Sommer für den Mann. Verschreckt
Vom holprigen Gelände sprang der Hund vom Sitz
Und löste einen Schuß aus, der sein Herrchen tötete.
Ach, beide Belgier könnten heut noch unterwegs sein,
Das ideale Paar, wenn nicht ein Schlagloch
Die Freundschaft dumpf zerrissen hätte. Schade.
Erschossen worden auf der Fahrt zur Jagd
Wie eine Zeitung unter Kuriose Welt vermeldet.
Der Mann aus Belgien saß zuletzt in seinem Jeep
Am Steuer ahnungslos und auf der Rücksitzbank,
Die Flinte neben sich, saß ahnungslos der Hund.
Wie immer schauten beide in dieselbe Richtung
Wo sich der Wald hinzog, – schweigsam der Mann,
Sein Jagdhund bechelnd, weil es schwül war, Sommer.
Es war der letzte Sommer für den Mann. Verschreckt
Vom holprigen Gelände sprang der Hund vom Sitz
Und löste einen Schuß aus, der sein Herrchen tötete.
Ach, beide Belgier könnten heut noch unterwegs sein,
Das ideale Paar, wenn nicht ein Schlagloch
Die Freundschaft dumpf zerrissen hätte. Schade.
From: Den Teuren Toten
Publisher: Suhrkamp Verlag,
Publisher: Suhrkamp Verlag,
Poems
Poems of Durs Grünbein
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In Belgium, a man was shot by his dog
In Belgium, a man was shot by his dogas they were just on their way hunting – a newspaper
carried the story under the rubric Funny Old World.
The man from Belgium was at the wheel of his S.U.V.
minding his business, and on the back seat,
next to his rifle, also minding his business, was his faithful dog.
As was their wont, man and dog were looking in the same direction,
at the expanse of forest – the man in silent contemplation,
his hunting dog panting slightly. It was hot. Summer –
the last summer that that man was to experience. Jolted
by the bumpy road, the dog was hurled in the air
and caused the fatal bullet to be discharged at his master.
To think that this brace of Belgians might still be around,
the perfect team, if that hole in the road
hadn’t so abruptly punctured their friendship. Sad.
From: Den Teuren Toten
In Belgium, a man was shot by his dog
In Belgium, a man was shot by his dogas they were just on their way hunting – a newspaper
carried the story under the rubric Funny Old World.
The man from Belgium was at the wheel of his S.U.V.
minding his business, and on the back seat,
next to his rifle, also minding his business, was his faithful dog.
As was their wont, man and dog were looking in the same direction,
at the expanse of forest – the man in silent contemplation,
his hunting dog panting slightly. It was hot. Summer –
the last summer that that man was to experience. Jolted
by the bumpy road, the dog was hurled in the air
and caused the fatal bullet to be discharged at his master.
To think that this brace of Belgians might still be around,
the perfect team, if that hole in the road
hadn’t so abruptly punctured their friendship. Sad.
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