Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Elke Erb

Cornflower, Ergot, Poppy

My love, you heard, you hear
them, your brothers, brethren, the seven
swans, you heard, hear their feathers -
voices in the sky -

Wrists whistling
blessing the herdess.

My love, I thought, for me there grew
no brothers in the field, brothers in the field.

Why did I scorn to greet the corn?
Stiff as a rod.

Stones, roused, eying
knights, charmed to life, still play
the violin on broken vows.

Korenbloem, moederkoren, klaproos

Lief, je hoorde, je hoort
hen, je broers, gebroeders, de zeven
zwanen, je hoorde, hoort de veren –
stemmen aan de hemel –

Handwortels gonsden
gezegend de herderin.

Lief, ik dacht, voor mij groeien er geen
broers in de akker, broers in de akker.

Waarom groette ik niet het koren naar behoren?
Stokstijf.

Stenen, opgewekt, ogen,
ridders, gezondgehekst, spelen
nog viool op de gebroken eden.

Kornblume, Mutterkorn, Klatschmohn

Liebe, du hörtest, du hörst
sie, Deine Brüder, Gebrüder, die sieben
Schwäne, Du hörtest, hörst die Gefieder –
Stimmen am Himmel –

Handwurzeln schwirrten
gesegnet der Hirtin.

Liebe, ich meinte, es wüchsen mir keine
Brüder im Acker, Brüder im Acker.

Warum grüßte ich nicht das Getreibe beileibe?
Stocksteif.

Steine, aufgeweckt, Äugen.
Ritter, heilgehext, Geigen
noch auf den brüchigen Eiden.
Close

Cornflower, Ergot, Poppy

My love, you heard, you hear
them, your brothers, brethren, the seven
swans, you heard, hear their feathers -
voices in the sky -

Wrists whistling
blessing the herdess.

My love, I thought, for me there grew
no brothers in the field, brothers in the field.

Why did I scorn to greet the corn?
Stiff as a rod.

Stones, roused, eying
knights, charmed to life, still play
the violin on broken vows.

Cornflower, Ergot, Poppy

My love, you heard, you hear
them, your brothers, brethren, the seven
swans, you heard, hear their feathers -
voices in the sky -

Wrists whistling
blessing the herdess.

My love, I thought, for me there grew
no brothers in the field, brothers in the field.

Why did I scorn to greet the corn?
Stiff as a rod.

Stones, roused, eying
knights, charmed to life, still play
the violin on broken vows.
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