Poem
Nils Chr. Moe-Repstad
POISONING 1
A rat runsinto the gaping mouth of an alligator
continues down to the stomach
and eats the rotting remains of an oryx calf
‘and then out, out of this place
fucking fast out of this place’
Pakistan and the mountains, no parakeets in the mineshafts
only onyx-children with dioxide and monoxide in their lungs
granite quarries hacked out by murderers in the colonies
I cut through cobblestones
and marbled bone, I pick out children
but Church Street has no number for them
‘nothing is more contagious than a child’
‘no one is sicker than a murderer’
is written under the church’s floorboards
broken up by the bones of children
the text is revealed to the ecstatic
but it is too late for ecstatic archeology
I read Kindertotenwald
and hear the grieving give birth
I infect them with the inheritance of a house,
my father’s house, where ballast stones from the full-rigged
Sørlandet form the foundation
if you kneel and press your ear against it
you can hear it’s a wailing wall
what you bind upon the earth, shall be bound in the heavens,
and what you resolve on the earth, shall be resolved in the heavens
I want to talk about the king of Crimea
1347 – during the Mongolian siege of Caffa the pest-ridden bodies were
catapulted over the city walls to infect the inhabitants
infected Genovese merchants sail westward
Constantinople, Sicily, Rome: Doktor Schnabel von Rom
German and English ships sail west and east of Kristiansand
Bergen, Oslo, 1349: the alter of St. Sebastian
Stavanger, 1350: Bishop Guttorm Pålsson
dies as the last in the realm*
I could have been an altruist like the black rat, but
city bay, 1991
for 23 years I have infected myself
with disease like a child
with text too light in my hands
too heavy in wax, too sterile in light
too dark for the place from which it comes
child is a hard language
when you find it in the streets
where the houses are coal-like
and the careful remorse
is most apparent under great, white wax-lights
why did I get a name here,
a state and a god here?
alb, christening robe
chalice and water, the sails
of the three-masted ship over our heads
sails from three masts up the Oslofjord
angustifolium in the wind
‘they press a white cotton washcloth
in between my jaws, so I
won’t gnaw off my lower lip’
the human bite is 250 kg per cm2
when the mandible and the maxilla are locked together
the throat closes like a marsh violet at night
it’s too late for prayers and hypnosis
these did their faces irrigate with blood,
which, with their tears commingled
‘It’s simple: if you live in pain, you perceive the pain
the blood that runs over your chin is the blood that saves
but not before you bite your lower lip off, there is One
and only One who can open the violets
so you can breath’
Bearmarsh Road, 7:32 a.m.: an ambulance
from one of the city hospitals
they record the opiate poisoning
pull up milky white Stesolid
and ask if I can see the full-rigged ship in the fjord:
‘The masts, the wind in … white sails, cotton
cotton tufts … light … the wind’
and all places are good places, to sleep with the wind
the August wind
* The plague never reached Iceland because all the sailors died before they arrived.
1e VERGIFTIGING
Een rat rentde open bek van een alligator in
helemaal naar de maag
en eet de rottende resten van een oryxkalf
‘en dan wegwezen, weg van hier
als de sodemieter weg van hier’
Pakistan en de bergen, geen parkieten in de tunnels
alleen onyxkinderen met dioxide en monoxide in hun longen
granietgroeven worden uitgehakt door moordenaars in de koloniën
ik snijd door kinderkopjes
en gemarmerd been, ik trek er kinderen uit
maar de Kirkegate heeft geen nummers voor ze
‘niemand is besmettelijker dan een kind’
‘niemand is zieker dan een moordenaar’
staat er onder de kerkvloer
die wordt opgebroken door kinderbeenderen
en de tekst wordt geopenbaard aan de jubelenden
maar het is te laat voor jubelarcheologie
ik lees Kindertotenwald
en hoor de rouwenden baren
ik besmet ze met de erfenis van een heel huis,
mijn vaders huis, met een fundering van ballaststenen
van het zeilschip Sørlandet
als je neerknielt en je oor ertegen drukt
kun je horen dat het een klaagmuur is
alles wat u op de aarde bindt, zal in de hemel gebonden zijn;
en alles wat u op de aarde ontbindt, zal in de hemel ontbonden zijn
ik wilde het hebben over de koning van de Krim
1347 – tijdens de Mongoolse belegering van Kaffa werden de pestlijken
met katapulten over de stadsmuren geschoten om de inwoners te besmetten
besmette Genuaanse handelslui varen westwaarts
Constantinopel, Sicilië, Rome: Doktor Schnabel von Rom
Duitse en Engelse schepen varen ten westen en oosten van Kristiansand
Bergen, Oslo, 1349: het altaar voor Sint Sebastiaan
Stavanger, 1350: bisschop Guttorm Pålsson
is de laatste in het koninkrijk die sterft*
ik zou altruïst kunnen zijn zoals de zwarte rat, maar
de byfjord, 1991
23 jaar lang heb ik mezelf
met ziekte besmet als een kind
met een schrift te licht in de handen
te zwaar in de was, te steriel in het licht
te duister voor de plek waar het vandaan komt
kind is een harde taal
als je die in straten vindt
waar de huizen als steenkool zijn
en de voorzichtige spijt
het duidelijkst is onder grote, witte kaarsen
waarom kreeg ik hier een naam,
hier een staat en een god?
de albe, de doopsjurk
de kelk en het water, de zeilen
van de driemaster boven onze hoofden
de zeilen van drie masten de Oslofjord in
angustifolium in de wind
‘ze drukken een witte katoenen handdoek
tussen mijn kaken, zodat ik
mijn onderlip niet afknaag’
de mens heeft een bijtkracht van 250 kilo per cm²
als mandibula en maxilla muurvast zitten
de strot gesloten als een moerasviooltje bij nacht
is het te laat voor gebed en hypnose
these did their faces irrigate with blood,
which, with their tears commingled
‘het is simpel: leef je in pijn, erken je de pijn
het bloed dat over je kin loopt, is het bloed dat redt
maar niet voordat je je onderlip afbijt, is er Eén
en slechts Eén die de violen kan openen,
zodat je kunt ademen’
de Bjørnemyrvei, 07.32 uur: een ambulance
van een van de ziekenhuizen in de stad
ze registreren de opiaatvergiftiging
vullen de spuit met melkwit Stesolid
en vragen of ik de zeilboot op de fjord zie:
‘de masten, de wind in … de witte zeilen, het wollegras
de lichtheid … van het wollegras … de wind’
en alle plekken zijn goede plekken, inslapen met de wind
de augustuswind
* De pest bereikte IJsland nooit, omdat alle zeelui stierven voordat ze aankwamen.
© Vertaling: 2017, Liesbeth Huijer
From: 19 vergiftigingen
Publisher: 2017, Azul Press, Maastricht, Amsterdam
From: 19 vergiftigingen
Publisher: 2017, Azul Press, Maastricht, Amsterdam
1. FORGIFTNING
Ei rotte løper inni den åpne kjeften på en alligator
fortsetter ned i magesekken
og spiser de råtnende restene av en oryxkalv
«og så ut, ut fra dette stedet
fort som faen ut fra dette stedet»
Pakistan og fjellene, ingen undulater i tunnelene
bare onyksbarn med dioksider og monoksider i lungene
granittbrudd hugges av mordere i koloniene
jeg skjærer gjennom brostein
og marmorert bein, jeg plukker ut barn
men Kirkegaten har ingen numre for dem
«ingen er mer smittsomme enn barn»
«ingen er sykere enn mordere»
står det under kirkegulvet
det brytes opp av barneknokler
og teksten åpenbares for de jublende
men det er for sent for jubelens arkeologi
jeg leser Kindertotenwald
og hører de sørgende føde
jeg smitter dem med arven fra et helt hus,
min fars hus, hvor grunnmuren er ballaststein
fra fullriggeren Sørlandet
kneler du og presser øret inntil
kan du høre det er en klagemur
det du binder på jorden, skal være bundet i himlene,
og det du løser på jorden, skal være løst i himlene
jeg ville snakke om kongen fra Krim
1347 – under mongolenes beleiring av Kaffa ble pestlikene
katapultert over bymurene for å smitte innbyggerne
smittede genovesiske handelsmenn seiler vestover
Konstantinopel, Sicilia, Roma: Doktor Schnabel von Rom
tyske og engelske skip seiler vest og øst av Kristiansand
Bergen, Oslo, 1349: alteret for St. Sebastian
Stavanger, 1350: biskop Gunnar Pålsson
dør som den siste i kongeriket*
jeg kunne vært altruist som svartrotta, men
byfjorden, 1991
i 23 år har jeg smittet meg selv
med sykdom som et barn
med skrift for lett i hendene
for tung i voks, for steril i lys
for mørk for stedet den kommer fra
barn er et hardt språk
når du finner det i gater
hvor husene har kullets egenskaper
og den forsiktige angeren
er tydeligst under store, hvite vokslys
hvorfor fikk jeg navn her,
en stat og en gud her?
albaen, dåpskjolen
kalken og vannet, seilene
fra tremasteren over hodene våre
seilene fra tre master inn Oslofjorden
angustifolium i vinden
«de presser et hvitt bomullshåndkle
inn mellom kjevene mine, så jeg
ikke skal gnage av meg underleppen»
menneskebittet er på 250 kg pr. cm2
når mandibula og maxilla er låst sammen
strupen lukket som en myrfiol om natten
er det for sent for bønn og hypnose
these did their faces irrigate with blood,
which, with their tears commingled
«det er enkelt: lever du i smerten, erkjenner du smerten
blodet som renner over haken din er blodet som redder
men ikke før du biter av deg underleppen, er det En
og bare En som kan åpne fiolene
så du kan puste»
Bjørnemyrveien, kl. 7.32: en ambulanse
fra et av byhospitalene
de journalfører opiatforgiftningen
trekker opp melkehvit Stesolid
og spør om jeg ser fullriggeren på fjorden:
«mastene, vinden i... hvite seilene, myrullen
myrulls... letthet... vinden»
og alle steder er gode steder, å sovne med vinden
augustvinden
*Pesten nådde aldri til Island, fordi alle sjømennene døde før de kom frem.
© 2014, Nils Chr. Moe-Repstad
From: 19 forgiftninger
Publisher: Flamme Forlag, Oslo
From: 19 forgiftninger
Publisher: Flamme Forlag, Oslo
Poems
Poems of Nils Chr. Moe-Repstad
Close
POISONING 1
A rat runsinto the gaping mouth of an alligator
continues down to the stomach
and eats the rotting remains of an oryx calf
‘and then out, out of this place
fucking fast out of this place’
Pakistan and the mountains, no parakeets in the mineshafts
only onyx-children with dioxide and monoxide in their lungs
granite quarries hacked out by murderers in the colonies
I cut through cobblestones
and marbled bone, I pick out children
but Church Street has no number for them
‘nothing is more contagious than a child’
‘no one is sicker than a murderer’
is written under the church’s floorboards
broken up by the bones of children
the text is revealed to the ecstatic
but it is too late for ecstatic archeology
I read Kindertotenwald
and hear the grieving give birth
I infect them with the inheritance of a house,
my father’s house, where ballast stones from the full-rigged
Sørlandet form the foundation
if you kneel and press your ear against it
you can hear it’s a wailing wall
what you bind upon the earth, shall be bound in the heavens,
and what you resolve on the earth, shall be resolved in the heavens
I want to talk about the king of Crimea
1347 – during the Mongolian siege of Caffa the pest-ridden bodies were
catapulted over the city walls to infect the inhabitants
infected Genovese merchants sail westward
Constantinople, Sicily, Rome: Doktor Schnabel von Rom
German and English ships sail west and east of Kristiansand
Bergen, Oslo, 1349: the alter of St. Sebastian
Stavanger, 1350: Bishop Guttorm Pålsson
dies as the last in the realm*
I could have been an altruist like the black rat, but
city bay, 1991
for 23 years I have infected myself
with disease like a child
with text too light in my hands
too heavy in wax, too sterile in light
too dark for the place from which it comes
child is a hard language
when you find it in the streets
where the houses are coal-like
and the careful remorse
is most apparent under great, white wax-lights
why did I get a name here,
a state and a god here?
alb, christening robe
chalice and water, the sails
of the three-masted ship over our heads
sails from three masts up the Oslofjord
angustifolium in the wind
‘they press a white cotton washcloth
in between my jaws, so I
won’t gnaw off my lower lip’
the human bite is 250 kg per cm2
when the mandible and the maxilla are locked together
the throat closes like a marsh violet at night
it’s too late for prayers and hypnosis
these did their faces irrigate with blood,
which, with their tears commingled
‘It’s simple: if you live in pain, you perceive the pain
the blood that runs over your chin is the blood that saves
but not before you bite your lower lip off, there is One
and only One who can open the violets
so you can breath’
Bearmarsh Road, 7:32 a.m.: an ambulance
from one of the city hospitals
they record the opiate poisoning
pull up milky white Stesolid
and ask if I can see the full-rigged ship in the fjord:
‘The masts, the wind in … white sails, cotton
cotton tufts … light … the wind’
and all places are good places, to sleep with the wind
the August wind
* The plague never reached Iceland because all the sailors died before they arrived.
From: 19 forgiftninger
POISONING 1
A rat runsinto the gaping mouth of an alligator
continues down to the stomach
and eats the rotting remains of an oryx calf
‘and then out, out of this place
fucking fast out of this place’
Pakistan and the mountains, no parakeets in the mineshafts
only onyx-children with dioxide and monoxide in their lungs
granite quarries hacked out by murderers in the colonies
I cut through cobblestones
and marbled bone, I pick out children
but Church Street has no number for them
‘nothing is more contagious than a child’
‘no one is sicker than a murderer’
is written under the church’s floorboards
broken up by the bones of children
the text is revealed to the ecstatic
but it is too late for ecstatic archeology
I read Kindertotenwald
and hear the grieving give birth
I infect them with the inheritance of a house,
my father’s house, where ballast stones from the full-rigged
Sørlandet form the foundation
if you kneel and press your ear against it
you can hear it’s a wailing wall
what you bind upon the earth, shall be bound in the heavens,
and what you resolve on the earth, shall be resolved in the heavens
I want to talk about the king of Crimea
1347 – during the Mongolian siege of Caffa the pest-ridden bodies were
catapulted over the city walls to infect the inhabitants
infected Genovese merchants sail westward
Constantinople, Sicily, Rome: Doktor Schnabel von Rom
German and English ships sail west and east of Kristiansand
Bergen, Oslo, 1349: the alter of St. Sebastian
Stavanger, 1350: Bishop Guttorm Pålsson
dies as the last in the realm*
I could have been an altruist like the black rat, but
city bay, 1991
for 23 years I have infected myself
with disease like a child
with text too light in my hands
too heavy in wax, too sterile in light
too dark for the place from which it comes
child is a hard language
when you find it in the streets
where the houses are coal-like
and the careful remorse
is most apparent under great, white wax-lights
why did I get a name here,
a state and a god here?
alb, christening robe
chalice and water, the sails
of the three-masted ship over our heads
sails from three masts up the Oslofjord
angustifolium in the wind
‘they press a white cotton washcloth
in between my jaws, so I
won’t gnaw off my lower lip’
the human bite is 250 kg per cm2
when the mandible and the maxilla are locked together
the throat closes like a marsh violet at night
it’s too late for prayers and hypnosis
these did their faces irrigate with blood,
which, with their tears commingled
‘It’s simple: if you live in pain, you perceive the pain
the blood that runs over your chin is the blood that saves
but not before you bite your lower lip off, there is One
and only One who can open the violets
so you can breath’
Bearmarsh Road, 7:32 a.m.: an ambulance
from one of the city hospitals
they record the opiate poisoning
pull up milky white Stesolid
and ask if I can see the full-rigged ship in the fjord:
‘The masts, the wind in … white sails, cotton
cotton tufts … light … the wind’
and all places are good places, to sleep with the wind
the August wind
* The plague never reached Iceland because all the sailors died before they arrived.
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère