Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Valzhyna Mort

A Poem About White Apples

white apples, first apples of summer,
with skin as delicate as a baby’s,
crispy like white winter snow.
your smell won’t let me sleep,
this is how dead men
haunt their murderers’ dreams.
white apples,
this is how every july the earth
gets heavier under your weight.

and here only garbage smells like garbage . . .
and here only tears taste like salt . . .

we were picking them
like shells in green ocean gardens,
having just turned away from mothers’ breasts
we were learning
to get to the core of everything with our teeth.

so why are our teeth like cotton wool now . . .

white apples,
in black waters, the fishermen,
nursed by you, are drowning.

GEDICHT OVER DE ‘BELY NALIV’

witte appels, de eerste appels van de zomer
met een schil zo teer als een babyhuidje,
knapperig als de witte wintersneeuw.
jullie geur gunt mij geen rust,
zo kwellen de doden ’s nachts
de zielen van hun moordenaars.
witte appels,
zo wordt elke julimaand de aarde
zwaar onder jullie gewicht.

en hier ruikt alleen het vuilnis naar vuilnis...
en hier ruiken alleen tranen naar zout...

terwijl we jullie plukten,
als groene schelpen in de oceaan van de tuin,
leerden wij, pas losgekomen van de moederborst,
in alles met onze tanden
naar de kern te zoeken.

maar zie, onze tanden werden als watten...

witte appels,
in het zwarte water dreigen de vissers,
die zich ooit met jullie voedden, nu te verdrinken.

ВЕРШ ПРА БЕЛЫ НАЛІЎ

белыя яблыкі, першыя яблыкі лета,
са скурай пяшчотнаю бы ў немаўляці,
хрусткія як белы зімовы сьнег.
ваш водар мне не дае спакою,
так па начах мерцьвякі
мучаць сваіх забойцаў.
белыя яблыкі,
так кожны ліпень зямля
цяжэе пад вашай вагай.

а тут толькі сьмецьце пахне як сьмецьце . . .
а тут толькі сьлёзы смакуюць як соль . . .

як мы зьбіралі вас,
нібы ракушкі зялёных садоў-акіянаў,
адарваўшыся ад матчыных грудзей,
вучыліся
ва ўсім шукаць сарцавіньне зубамі.

што ж нашыя зубы тут сталі як вата...

белыя яблыкі,
у чорнай вадзе рыбакі,
выкармленыя вамі, тонуць.
Close

A Poem About White Apples

white apples, first apples of summer,
with skin as delicate as a baby’s,
crispy like white winter snow.
your smell won’t let me sleep,
this is how dead men
haunt their murderers’ dreams.
white apples,
this is how every july the earth
gets heavier under your weight.

and here only garbage smells like garbage . . .
and here only tears taste like salt . . .

we were picking them
like shells in green ocean gardens,
having just turned away from mothers’ breasts
we were learning
to get to the core of everything with our teeth.

so why are our teeth like cotton wool now . . .

white apples,
in black waters, the fishermen,
nursed by you, are drowning.

A Poem About White Apples

white apples, first apples of summer,
with skin as delicate as a baby’s,
crispy like white winter snow.
your smell won’t let me sleep,
this is how dead men
haunt their murderers’ dreams.
white apples,
this is how every july the earth
gets heavier under your weight.

and here only garbage smells like garbage . . .
and here only tears taste like salt . . .

we were picking them
like shells in green ocean gardens,
having just turned away from mothers’ breasts
we were learning
to get to the core of everything with our teeth.

so why are our teeth like cotton wool now . . .

white apples,
in black waters, the fishermen,
nursed by you, are drowning.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère