Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Katia Kapovich

APARTMENT 75

The obese woman who used to wake up
our whole house by starting her Subaru at 6 a.m.
has committed suicide. Snow
hangs like a set of unlaundered sheets
in the windows. When I walked into
her seventh floor studio, the standard lamp
was still on, but could only light itself,
refusing to interfere with the dull dusk
of the interior the police had already searched.

For the first time, I felt an urge to look at her face
and perhaps to see something more distinctly
than the triviality of neighborhood permits
and the mystery of suicide allows,
but her features were shut down without offense.
I only remember a chair missing its rear legs,
shoved up against the wall for balance.

FLATWONING 75

De hele flat werd, als die dikke vrouw
haar auto startte, wakker. Nu heeft zij
zelfmoord gepleegd. De sneeuw lag oud en grauw
achter het lege venster, wijd en zijd.
Ik liep de woning in, de schemering.
De staande lamp werd door zichzelf verlicht –
een licht dat bij het hoofdeinde verging,
los van de flat, die saai was ingericht.
 
En voor het eerst bekeek ik haar gelaat
aandachtiger, omdat ik dan misschien
meer dan nabuurschapsdroesem ons verraadt,
meer ook dan ons de dood vertoont, zou zien,
juist bij een zelfmoordenaar. Maar er sprak
slechts hoon uit, woordeloos. Een stoeltje stond
van achter doorgezakt voor het gemak
tegen een muur – wat ik wel sprekend vond.

Close

APARTMENT 75

The obese woman who used to wake up
our whole house by starting her Subaru at 6 a.m.
has committed suicide. Snow
hangs like a set of unlaundered sheets
in the windows. When I walked into
her seventh floor studio, the standard lamp
was still on, but could only light itself,
refusing to interfere with the dull dusk
of the interior the police had already searched.

For the first time, I felt an urge to look at her face
and perhaps to see something more distinctly
than the triviality of neighborhood permits
and the mystery of suicide allows,
but her features were shut down without offense.
I only remember a chair missing its rear legs,
shoved up against the wall for balance.

APARTMENT 75

The obese woman who used to wake up
our whole house by starting her Subaru at 6 a.m.
has committed suicide. Snow
hangs like a set of unlaundered sheets
in the windows. When I walked into
her seventh floor studio, the standard lamp
was still on, but could only light itself,
refusing to interfere with the dull dusk
of the interior the police had already searched.

For the first time, I felt an urge to look at her face
and perhaps to see something more distinctly
than the triviality of neighborhood permits
and the mystery of suicide allows,
but her features were shut down without offense.
I only remember a chair missing its rear legs,
shoved up against the wall for balance.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère