Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Valzhyna Mort

Grandmother

my grandmother
doesn’t know pain
she believes that
famine is nutrition
poverty is wealth
thirst is water
her body like a grapevine winding around a walking stick
her hair bees’ wings
she swallows the sun-speckles of pills
and calls the internet the telephone to america
her heart has turned into a rose the only thing you can do
is smell it
pressing yourself to her chest
there’s nothing else you can do with it
only a rose
her arms like stork’s legs
red sticks
and i am on my knees
howling like a wolf
at the white moon of your skull
grandmother
i’m telling you it’s not pain
just the embrace of a very strong god
one with an unshaven cheek that prickles when he kisses you.

GROOTMOEDER

mijn grootmoeder
kent geen pijn
zij denkt:
honger – dat is eten
armoede – dat is rijkdom
dorst – dat is water
haar lichaam slingert zich als een wijnrank om een paal
haar haren zijn als de vleugels van een bij
ze slikt de ronde lichtplekjes van haar pillen
en noemt internet de telefoon naar Amerika
haar hart is veranderd in een roos – die je slechts nog
kunt ruiken
door je tegen haar borst te drukken
meer kan het niet betekenen
dan een bloem
haar armen zijn als de poten van een ooievaar
dunne, rode staken
en ik zit op mijn hurken
en huil als een wolf
naar de witte maan van je hoofd
grootmoeder
ik zeg je: dit is geen pijn
het is god die je zo stevig omhelst
en je kust en prikt met zijn ongeschoren wang

БАБУЛЯ

мая бабуля
ня ведае болю
яна думае што
голад – гэта ежа
галота – гэта багацьце
смага – гэта вада
яе цела як вінаград абвілася вакол палкі
яе валасы як пчаліныя крылцы
яна глытае сонечныя зайчыкі таблетак
называе інтэрнэт тэлефонам ў амерыку
яе сэрца стала ружаю – яго толькі і можна
што нюхаць
прыціскаючыся да яе грудзей
больш ад яго ніякага толку
толькі кветка
яе рукі як ногі бусла
чырвоныя палачкі
і я сяджу на кукішках
і выю ваўком
на белаю поўню тваёй галавы
бабуля
я кажу табе: гэта не боль
гэта так моцна цябе абдымае бог
цалуе і коле сваёй няголенай шчакою
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Grandmother

my grandmother
doesn’t know pain
she believes that
famine is nutrition
poverty is wealth
thirst is water
her body like a grapevine winding around a walking stick
her hair bees’ wings
she swallows the sun-speckles of pills
and calls the internet the telephone to america
her heart has turned into a rose the only thing you can do
is smell it
pressing yourself to her chest
there’s nothing else you can do with it
only a rose
her arms like stork’s legs
red sticks
and i am on my knees
howling like a wolf
at the white moon of your skull
grandmother
i’m telling you it’s not pain
just the embrace of a very strong god
one with an unshaven cheek that prickles when he kisses you.

Grandmother

my grandmother
doesn’t know pain
she believes that
famine is nutrition
poverty is wealth
thirst is water
her body like a grapevine winding around a walking stick
her hair bees’ wings
she swallows the sun-speckles of pills
and calls the internet the telephone to america
her heart has turned into a rose the only thing you can do
is smell it
pressing yourself to her chest
there’s nothing else you can do with it
only a rose
her arms like stork’s legs
red sticks
and i am on my knees
howling like a wolf
at the white moon of your skull
grandmother
i’m telling you it’s not pain
just the embrace of a very strong god
one with an unshaven cheek that prickles when he kisses you.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère