Poem
Tsead Bruinja
CELLAR
when she hears the hand on the handle behind herthe spring in the cellar door stretches the blue
mouthful of meths splashes back in the plastic
belly of the bottle still not mixed with her spit
her heart falls again her face blushes red
she screws the lid tight and wipes the wrinkled
back of her left hand over her mouth and only
starts to breathe in the gentle eyes of her daughter
who sent her boyfriend home with a last kiss
and missed her mother in the chair the black
lid of the stove heavy cast-iron unused
warmth probing the awareness of her fingers
a cautious creaking on the cellar stairs mother
is still up she thought and goes there
© Translation: 2004, David Colmer
Translated from the poet’s Dutch translation
KELDER
KELDER
at se achter har heart hoe’t in hân de klink betaastde fear yn de keldersdoar spant plûmpt de blauwe slok
spiritus noch net fermongen mei har flibe
yn ’e búk fan de plestik flesse werom sakket
de moed har wer yn de skuon rint har kop read oan draait
se de dop derop faget mei de achterkant fan de linker
hân rimpele oer de mûle en begjint pas te
azemjen yn de sêfte eagen fan har dochter
dy’t har feint mei in lêste tút nei hûs stjoerde en
har mem net sitten seach yn ’e stoel de swarte kop
fan ’e kachel swier getten izer ûnbeset
de waarmte socht in plak yn it witten fan har
fingers op de kelderstrep in foarsichtich kreakjen
mem leit noch net op bêd tocht se beweecht derhinne
© 2000, Tsead Bruinja
From: De wizers yn it read
Publisher: Bornmeer,
From: De wizers yn it read
Publisher: Bornmeer,
Poems
Poems of Tsead Bruinja
Close
CELLAR
when she hears the hand on the handle behind herthe spring in the cellar door stretches the blue
mouthful of meths splashes back in the plastic
belly of the bottle still not mixed with her spit
her heart falls again her face blushes red
she screws the lid tight and wipes the wrinkled
back of her left hand over her mouth and only
starts to breathe in the gentle eyes of her daughter
who sent her boyfriend home with a last kiss
and missed her mother in the chair the black
lid of the stove heavy cast-iron unused
warmth probing the awareness of her fingers
a cautious creaking on the cellar stairs mother
is still up she thought and goes there
© 2004, David Colmer
From: De wizers yn it read
From: De wizers yn it read
CELLAR
when she hears the hand on the handle behind herthe spring in the cellar door stretches the blue
mouthful of meths splashes back in the plastic
belly of the bottle still not mixed with her spit
her heart falls again her face blushes red
she screws the lid tight and wipes the wrinkled
back of her left hand over her mouth and only
starts to breathe in the gentle eyes of her daughter
who sent her boyfriend home with a last kiss
and missed her mother in the chair the black
lid of the stove heavy cast-iron unused
warmth probing the awareness of her fingers
a cautious creaking on the cellar stairs mother
is still up she thought and goes there
© 2004, David Colmer
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