Poem
Thomas Möhlmann
The Buried Woman
There was rain in the airand humming in the ground.
I knelt and looked straight
into her face. With the earth
on her fingers and the spade
across her shoulder she led me
through the start of the rain
into the house.
Mumbling followed and a rummaging
with cooking utensils. No, I have nothing
to eat, but plenty of pots and pans
for when it rains and a shoe and a chicken
that sometimes lays an egg, somewhere.
When everything has been carefully arranged
and not a drop falls on the floor any more
she sinks down on the bed and, humming
all the while, builds a new hole
in between snores she sings a little
my husband left me his left shoe
I did not bear a son
whom it fits.
De ingegraven vrouw
De ingegraven vrouw
Er zat regen in de luchten geneurie in de grond.
Ik knielde en keek recht
in haar gezicht. Met de aarde
aan haar vingers en de schep
over haar schouder ging ze me
door het begin van een bui voor
naar huis.
Gemompel volgde en gerommel
met keukengerei. Nee, ik heb niets
te eten, maar potjes en pannen genoeg
voor als het regent en een schoen
en een kip die soms een ei legt, ergens.
Als alles naar plan gerangschikt is
en er geen druppel meer op de vloer valt
laat ze zich zakken op het bed en bouwt
ze neuriënd een nieuwe kuil
tussen het snurken zingt ze nog
mijn man liet me zijn linkerschoen na
ik heb geen zoon gebaard
die hem past.
From: De vloeibare jongen
Publisher: Prometheus, Amsterdam
Publisher: Prometheus, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Thomas Möhlmann
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The Buried Woman
There was rain in the airand humming in the ground.
I knelt and looked straight
into her face. With the earth
on her fingers and the spade
across her shoulder she led me
through the start of the rain
into the house.
Mumbling followed and a rummaging
with cooking utensils. No, I have nothing
to eat, but plenty of pots and pans
for when it rains and a shoe and a chicken
that sometimes lays an egg, somewhere.
When everything has been carefully arranged
and not a drop falls on the floor any more
she sinks down on the bed and, humming
all the while, builds a new hole
in between snores she sings a little
my husband left me his left shoe
I did not bear a son
whom it fits.
From: De vloeibare jongen
The Buried Woman
There was rain in the airand humming in the ground.
I knelt and looked straight
into her face. With the earth
on her fingers and the spade
across her shoulder she led me
through the start of the rain
into the house.
Mumbling followed and a rummaging
with cooking utensils. No, I have nothing
to eat, but plenty of pots and pans
for when it rains and a shoe and a chicken
that sometimes lays an egg, somewhere.
When everything has been carefully arranged
and not a drop falls on the floor any more
she sinks down on the bed and, humming
all the while, builds a new hole
in between snores she sings a little
my husband left me his left shoe
I did not bear a son
whom it fits.
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