Poem
Maura Dooley
DULWICH PICTURE GALLERY THROUGH A VEIL OF TEARS
DULWICH PICTURE GALLERY DOOR EEN SLUIER VAN TRANEN
Niet echt een vallei, meer de sombere vlakten van Zuid-Londen,de sneeuw maskeerde de weg en de tranen die voortdurend over je wangen vloeiden,
ongestelpt, onopgemerkt door de pijn dat je haar miste haar miste
dempten alles af, pakten het in, waterig-wit, zodat er van dit leven praktisch niets overbleef
en we alleen de kunst nog hadden. Het licht was vanzelfsprekend flauw, het glas aanwezig maar het spiegelde niet,
dus we konden niet zien hoe het precies gedaan was, waren er potloodstrepen?
Je zwemmende blik droeg mogelijk iets bij aan de overtuiging
en ik, te boordevol van jou en jouw gebrek aan haar, was dankbaar dat ik er nog in geloofde.
Toen we uit de zorgvuldig afgemeten warmte de januarilucht weer instapten,
waren onze sporen volledig bedekt, er lag niets achter ons, de weg voor ons was leeg,
de motor koud, en we rilden samen. Terwijl ik de weg opreed, gedurende die ogenblikken
vóór er koplampen nodig zijn, stak ik een sigaret voor je aan, nog iets dat je had opgegeven.
© Vertaling: 2009, Jabik Veenbaas
DULWICH PICTURE GALLERY THROUGH A VEIL OF TEARS
Not a valley exactly, more the morose plains of south London,the snow masked our way and the tears that coursed your face constant,
unstemmed, unremarked through your ache of missing her missing her
made everything muted, padded, watery-white, made this life as nothing,
which left us art. The lights were necessarily dim, the glass present if non-reflective,
so we were unable to see just how it was done, were there pencil marks?
Your swimming vision may have added something to the conviction,
and I, too brimful of you and your lack of her, felt grateful just to believe in it.
When we stepped from the carefully measured warmth back into January air
to find our tracks covered completely, nothing behind us, the road ahead a blank,
the engine cold, we shivered together. Then pulling onto the road in those moments
before headlights are needed, I lit a cigarette for you, something else you’d given up.
© 2008, Maura Dooley
From: Life Under Water
Publisher: Bloodaxe, Tarset
From: Life Under Water
Publisher: Bloodaxe, Tarset
Maura Dooley
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1957)
Maura Dooley (1957) is of Irish extraction, but was born in the English town of Truro. She grew up in Bristol and has a degree from the University of York. She lives in London at present, where she teaches creative writing at Goldsmiths, University of London. Dooley has published a number of poetry collections, including Explaining Magnetism (1991), Kissing A Bone (1996) and Life Under Water (2...
Poems
Poems of Maura Dooley
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DULWICH PICTURE GALLERY THROUGH A VEIL OF TEARS
Not a valley exactly, more the morose plains of south London,the snow masked our way and the tears that coursed your face constant,
unstemmed, unremarked through your ache of missing her missing her
made everything muted, padded, watery-white, made this life as nothing,
which left us art. The lights were necessarily dim, the glass present if non-reflective,
so we were unable to see just how it was done, were there pencil marks?
Your swimming vision may have added something to the conviction,
and I, too brimful of you and your lack of her, felt grateful just to believe in it.
When we stepped from the carefully measured warmth back into January air
to find our tracks covered completely, nothing behind us, the road ahead a blank,
the engine cold, we shivered together. Then pulling onto the road in those moments
before headlights are needed, I lit a cigarette for you, something else you’d given up.
From: Life Under Water
DULWICH PICTURE GALLERY THROUGH A VEIL OF TEARS
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