Poem
Gro Dahle
WHO IS TUMBLING SIDEWAYS ACROSS THE TABLE?
Is it you?Are you choking on a Brussels sprout, perhaps?
The glasses falling
the red wine spotting the table cloth
The peas out of the bowl
Like a torn-off pearl necklace
Is it you gasping for air?
Forward bent
Your chest against the table’s edge
Your arms
Do you surrender?
Do you rest your forehead against the roast?
Your chin in the potatoes you mashed with the gravy
You who were looking forward to that gravy
the lingonberry jam
You who were looking forward to the dessert
The filled apples, the dash of cream and the raisins
To the summer with seagulls
What do we do then?
Do we thump your back?
Do we stick fingers down your throat?
Try to squeeze your waist
and push a fist
into your midriff?
Or do we just stand and watch
Put the fork nicely down
next to the plate
Straighten the scrunched tablecloth
Stop talking
Is it you suffocating?
Why are you looking at me?
Do you think I can help?
Should I find the scalpel
and make a shortcut for your breath?
Open your chest, your throat
And remove the Brussels sprout with tweezers
Imagine, a Brussels sprout
Would you rather have chosen to fall?
Dive forwards down the cliff?
Or burn alive?
The smoke like a mattress over your mouth
or just one Friday morning
not wake up to the alarm clock
not wake up to the doorbell
just stretch sleep, stretch sleep
into nothingness
© Translation: 2012, May-Brit Akerholt
HVEM ER DET SOM VELTER SIDELENGS OVER BORDET?
HVEM ER DET SOM VELTER SIDELENGS OVER BORDET?
Er det du?Har du satt en rosenkål i halsen, kanskje?
Glassene som faller
rødvinsflekkene på duken
Ertene ut av bollen
som et røket perlekjede
Er det du som gisper etter luft?
Foroverlent
med brystet mot bordkanten
Armene
Gir du opp?
Hviler du pannen mot steken?
Haken ned i potetene som du moste i saus
Du som hadde gledet deg til den sausen
tyttebærsyltetøyet
Du som hadde gledet deg til desserten
De fylte eplene, kremdotten og rosinene
Til sommeren med måker
Hva gjør vi da?
Dunker vi deg i ryggen?
Stikker vi fingrene inn i halsen på deg?
Prøver vi å gripe rundt livet ditt
og presse knyttneven
inn mot mellomgulvet?
Eller blir vi bare stående og se på
Legger gaffelen pent ned
ved siden av tallerkenen
Retter på duken som skrukker seg
Slutter å snakke
Er det du som kveles?
Hvorfor ser du på meg?
Tror du jeg kan hjelpe?
Burde jeg finne tapetkniven
og skjære en snarvei for pusten?
Åpne brystet, halsen
og fjerne rosenkålen med en pinsett
Tenk, en rosenkål
Ville du heller valgt å falle?
Stupe framover ned skrenten?
Eller brenne inne?
Med røyken som en madrass over munnen
eller bare en fredagsmorgen
å ikke våkne til vekkerklokken
ikke våkne til dørbjellen
bare strekke søvnen, strekke søvnen
inn i ingenting
© 1994, Gro Dahle
From: Regnværsgåter
Publisher: J.W. Cappelens Forlag, Oslo
From: Regnværsgåter
Publisher: J.W. Cappelens Forlag, Oslo
Poems
Poems of Gro Dahle
Close
WHO IS TUMBLING SIDEWAYS ACROSS THE TABLE?
Is it you?Are you choking on a Brussels sprout, perhaps?
The glasses falling
the red wine spotting the table cloth
The peas out of the bowl
Like a torn-off pearl necklace
Is it you gasping for air?
Forward bent
Your chest against the table’s edge
Your arms
Do you surrender?
Do you rest your forehead against the roast?
Your chin in the potatoes you mashed with the gravy
You who were looking forward to that gravy
the lingonberry jam
You who were looking forward to the dessert
The filled apples, the dash of cream and the raisins
To the summer with seagulls
What do we do then?
Do we thump your back?
Do we stick fingers down your throat?
Try to squeeze your waist
and push a fist
into your midriff?
Or do we just stand and watch
Put the fork nicely down
next to the plate
Straighten the scrunched tablecloth
Stop talking
Is it you suffocating?
Why are you looking at me?
Do you think I can help?
Should I find the scalpel
and make a shortcut for your breath?
Open your chest, your throat
And remove the Brussels sprout with tweezers
Imagine, a Brussels sprout
Would you rather have chosen to fall?
Dive forwards down the cliff?
Or burn alive?
The smoke like a mattress over your mouth
or just one Friday morning
not wake up to the alarm clock
not wake up to the doorbell
just stretch sleep, stretch sleep
into nothingness
© 2012, May-Brit Akerholt
From: Regnværsgåter
From: Regnværsgåter
WHO IS TUMBLING SIDEWAYS ACROSS THE TABLE?
Is it you?Are you choking on a Brussels sprout, perhaps?
The glasses falling
the red wine spotting the table cloth
The peas out of the bowl
Like a torn-off pearl necklace
Is it you gasping for air?
Forward bent
Your chest against the table’s edge
Your arms
Do you surrender?
Do you rest your forehead against the roast?
Your chin in the potatoes you mashed with the gravy
You who were looking forward to that gravy
the lingonberry jam
You who were looking forward to the dessert
The filled apples, the dash of cream and the raisins
To the summer with seagulls
What do we do then?
Do we thump your back?
Do we stick fingers down your throat?
Try to squeeze your waist
and push a fist
into your midriff?
Or do we just stand and watch
Put the fork nicely down
next to the plate
Straighten the scrunched tablecloth
Stop talking
Is it you suffocating?
Why are you looking at me?
Do you think I can help?
Should I find the scalpel
and make a shortcut for your breath?
Open your chest, your throat
And remove the Brussels sprout with tweezers
Imagine, a Brussels sprout
Would you rather have chosen to fall?
Dive forwards down the cliff?
Or burn alive?
The smoke like a mattress over your mouth
or just one Friday morning
not wake up to the alarm clock
not wake up to the doorbell
just stretch sleep, stretch sleep
into nothingness
© 2012, May-Brit Akerholt
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