Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Rogi Wieg

RAYMOND CARVER

As Raymond Carver wrote. I vaguely remember his lines,
go right, not left. Take that road and no other, there’s a creek on the left
and there in the doorway of that house stands the woman who loves you,

something like that he wrote, but different, though I’ve remembered it.

Why must he die so young? There’s little more than some love and art
in some lives. And if none of it works, if it goes wrong, you
actually go left… Damn it, where am I? The woman in late sunlight then?
Take that road and no other, a creek on the left, she wearing sun in her hair.

It’s there by that house that Carver’s car stands. I can see
him at the wheel, though he’s slumped forward and no longer breathes in or out.

RAYMOND CARVER

RAYMOND CARVER

Raymond Carver schreef het al. Ik herinner me zijn regels vaag,
ga niet naar links, maar naar rechts. Neem de bocht, ga langs de rivier
en daar bij het huis, dat ene huis, staat de vrouw die van je houdt,

zoiets schreef hij, maar dan anders, al heb ik het onthouden.

Waarom moest hij zo vroeg dood? Er is weinig meer dan wat liefde en kunst
in sommige levens. En als het allemaal niet gaat, als het misloopt, je
wel naar links gaat... Verdomme, waar blíjf ik? De vrouw in het late zonlicht toch?
Neem de bocht, ga langs de rivier, de vrouw in wiens haar het zonlicht schijnt.

Het is daar bij dat ene huis, waar de auto van Carver staat. Ik kan hem
zien achter het stuur, al hangt hij naar voren en ademt hij niet meer in of uit.
Close

RAYMOND CARVER

As Raymond Carver wrote. I vaguely remember his lines,
go right, not left. Take that road and no other, there’s a creek on the left
and there in the doorway of that house stands the woman who loves you,

something like that he wrote, but different, though I’ve remembered it.

Why must he die so young? There’s little more than some love and art
in some lives. And if none of it works, if it goes wrong, you
actually go left… Damn it, where am I? The woman in late sunlight then?
Take that road and no other, a creek on the left, she wearing sun in her hair.

It’s there by that house that Carver’s car stands. I can see
him at the wheel, though he’s slumped forward and no longer breathes in or out.

RAYMOND CARVER

As Raymond Carver wrote. I vaguely remember his lines,
go right, not left. Take that road and no other, there’s a creek on the left
and there in the doorway of that house stands the woman who loves you,

something like that he wrote, but different, though I’ve remembered it.

Why must he die so young? There’s little more than some love and art
in some lives. And if none of it works, if it goes wrong, you
actually go left… Damn it, where am I? The woman in late sunlight then?
Take that road and no other, a creek on the left, she wearing sun in her hair.

It’s there by that house that Carver’s car stands. I can see
him at the wheel, though he’s slumped forward and no longer breathes in or out.
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