Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Luke Davies

GAWAIN

GAWEIN

’t Was me het dagje wel dat ik al vechtend
de leeuw de dood injoeg
en de vrouwen me vonden
voorover langs z’n flanken
en niet konden zien
welk bloed van wie was.

“Excuus dat u mij in deze
schandelijke toestand ziet
ik hoop dat u het niet
verder vertelt,” zei ik
Ze droegen me omhoog.
met mijn 500 wonden.

(waar de betoverde vrouwen 500 waren
al was dat toeval
meer dan symboliek)
Ik keek van de ene vrouw
naar de andere
en mijn hart deed gewoon pijn

Ik was moedig geweest,
Ik was doelgericht geweest
toen ik op de leeuw inhakte
en die terugsloeg. “Je voelt je heel wat,”
zeiden de vrouwen, “met die leeuwenpoot
op je schild

nietwaar? Maar je veroorzaakt flinke schade
met je moed.”
Ik gaf het toe
Zo’n tijdperk was het wel
Het was een lange dag
Nu die verdomde Groene Ridder nog

Wat een verhaal
Ik wist hoe ik het bondig moest verpakken
Ik keek van vrouw naar vrouw
mijn hart deed gewoon pijn
Drie rode drupjes in de sneeuw
dat is leven.

of een kasteel om je te krullen
in gangen breed genoeg voor paarden
een bed van stro om in te dromen
de grauwe vorst verdampt
en een eind aan al dit wankelen
ik was niet volkomen goed maar ik

werd volkomen

GAWAIN

Helluva day the day I fought
the lion to the death
when the women found me
prone across its flanks
and couldn't work out
whose blood was whose

“Pardon me that you see me
in this disgraceful condition
I hope you won't mention it
to anybody,” I said
They took me upstairs
with my 500 wounds

(where the enchanted women were 500,
though that was coincidence
rather than symbolism)
I looked from one woman
to the other
and my heart was simply aching

I had had courage
I had had great one-pointedness
when I sliced at the lion
as he lashed. “You feel pretty fancy,”
the women said, “with that lion paw
stuck in your shield,

don't you? But you do much harm
through courage.”
I conceded the point
It was that kind of century
It was a long day
Still the damned Green Knight to go

What a saga
I knew how to pack it in tight
I looked from woman to woman
and my heart was simply aching
Three red drops in the snow
that's life

or a castle to curl up in
hallways wide enough for horses
a bed of straw to dream in
the hoar frost is evaporated
an end to all this staggering
I was not entirely good but I

became entire
Close

GAWAIN

Helluva day the day I fought
the lion to the death
when the women found me
prone across its flanks
and couldn't work out
whose blood was whose

“Pardon me that you see me
in this disgraceful condition
I hope you won't mention it
to anybody,” I said
They took me upstairs
with my 500 wounds

(where the enchanted women were 500,
though that was coincidence
rather than symbolism)
I looked from one woman
to the other
and my heart was simply aching

I had had courage
I had had great one-pointedness
when I sliced at the lion
as he lashed. “You feel pretty fancy,”
the women said, “with that lion paw
stuck in your shield,

don't you? But you do much harm
through courage.”
I conceded the point
It was that kind of century
It was a long day
Still the damned Green Knight to go

What a saga
I knew how to pack it in tight
I looked from woman to woman
and my heart was simply aching
Three red drops in the snow
that's life

or a castle to curl up in
hallways wide enough for horses
a bed of straw to dream in
the hoar frost is evaporated
an end to all this staggering
I was not entirely good but I

became entire

GAWAIN

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