Poem
Ulrike Draesner
WITH LITTLE BEINGS
lustous (she doesn’t ponounce r)it must be big the wanding eyes: my light buns on it
hums it nods sceams looks thinks it is the little staa mixes
and finds neitha it no us the easons aa a mud
on the wellie side leaf stuck its vein thea the tee “the magpie
is flying” black-and-white the “moon is too” whea is the fo-est?
the invisible cat eally sits on its wist out thea whea
it went till it not beaking the jaa all-edy and does the
bown eye know its chee-eeness when like hiding
what it ………… (is)
paprika mamrika
she’s been saying r for three days and
what is it “paprika” after nursery
“mamrika” she said we raughed ran
raced: to buy a bike-ber as her prize
instead of a pink riry fairy she picked a brue
one with a mouse then we sat in a café
she had cheesecake we prayed “big girs”
in other words we conversed under
swaying prane trees for wasn’t her theatle
lole the led dlagon whose eyes wele no
longer gleen . . . and tord me of fire
and srithering, how wonderfur
rife was in this fawr
wolfy
a gray child long-haired dark her brown face smeared white
small, delicate in loose clothing a gray fleece gray trousers
sturdy shoes a wolf-child, broad-shouldered in her way
coming down the few steps from the bus little thing still
after three day’s kindergarten trip smelling of sheep donkey earth
as if dumb-detached with her wild questing gaze
for seconds seconds a stranger she came towards me
down those steps of the bus just a few steps were a
world, after three days so strange. we needed to
find out where we were we first to move towards
each other those gluing or cementing ideas
that were visible as arms and hands between us
when i, carrying her in my arms, touched her more
she said “ow” as if i’d grown a beard
as if my wolfish beard had brushed her
my wolfish gaze.
i’d been waiting so long
i prowled
© Translation: 2012, Iain Galbraith
kleine wezentjes
stalen (ze zegt geen r)goot moet het zijn de dwalende ogen: mijn lichtje bant ze
neuliet ze knikt scheeuwt vindt zichzelf het stellitje haspelt
en vindt noch zichzelf noch ons dankzij een moddetje
op de lubbelazenland blad pat de adel daan de boom ‘de eksta
vliegt’ zwatwit de ‘maan die ook’ waa is de bos?
de kat onzichtba wekkeluk zit op de hand da buiten waa
gaat tot ze balst de kluik nog zo lang en heeft haal
buine oog weet van zijn volijkheid hoe daalin vustopt zit
wat ze……………… (is)
paprika mamrika
sinds drie dagen kan ze de r en
hoe ze ‘paprika’ zei bij het afhalen
‘mamrika’ wij lachten liepen riepen
vooluit: fietsber kopen als beroning
koos ze geen roze rirrifee maar een brauwe
met muis daarna zaten we in het café
ze at cheesecake wij speerden ‘groten’
zeg maar een grotemensengesprek onder
wiegende pratanen op toneel immers
was ze de rode draak met de niet meel
gloene ogen . . . en verterde over vuur
en surtans, heerrijk was
het reven in deze herfst
wolfs
een grijs kind met lang haar donker het bruine gezicht met witte vegen
klein, tenger in ruime kleren een grijs fleece jack grijze broek
stevige schoenen een wolfskind op haar manier breed in de schouders
de paar treetjes van de bus afdalend klein wezentje nog na
drie dagen klassenuitje naar schaap ruikend aarde ezel
hoe sprakeloos weg in zichzelf met wilde jagende blik
kwam ze in die paar seconden seconden lang vreemd op me af
de treeplank van de bus die paar treetjes een hele
wereld afdalend na drie dagen zo vreemd. we moesten
eerst weer zoeken waar we wij waren om elkaar te ervaren
de plakkende of te voegen ideeën hervinden
die als armen handen zichtbaar waren tussen ons
toen ik haar, op de arm dragend, weer aanraakte
zei ze ‘au’ alsof ik een prikkelbaard had
alsof mijn wolfsbaard haar geschuurd had
mijn wolfsblik
ik had zo lang gewacht
ik streepte af
© Vertaling: 2012, Ard Posthuma
MIT KLEINEN WESEN
pangen (sie spicht kein r)goß soll es sein das wanden de augen: mein licht benn auf sie
summt sie nickt scheit sieht denkt sie ist das stenlein mischt
und findet weda sich noch uns die günde sind ein matsch
am gummistiefeland blatt patt die ada da de aum „die elsta
fliegt“ schwazweiß de „mond de auch“ wo ist die wald?
die katze unsichtba wikklich sitzt auf de hand da daußen wo
da gang bis es bicht da kug nicht schon und weiß das
baune auge seine heitekeit wenn wie vasteckt sich
was sie………….. (ist)
paprika mamrika
seit drei tagen kann sie das r und
wie sagte sie „paprika“ nach der kita
„mamrika“ wir lachten liefen riefen
ros: fahrradkringer kaufen zur berohnung
währte sie statt rosa rirryfee eine braue
mit maus danach saßen wir im café
sie aß cheesecake wir spierten "große"
sprich machten konversation unter
schaukernden pratanen war sie doch im theater
der rote drache mit den nicht mehl
glünen augen . . . und erzährte von feuer
und schreichen, herrrich war
das reben in diesem herbst
wölf
ein graues kind langhaarig dunkel das braune gesicht weiß verschmiert
klein, zart in weiter kleidung einem grauen fleece grauen hosen
festen schuhen ein wolfskind, in seiner art breitschultrig
die paar stufen des buses hinunter kleines wesen noch
nach dreie tagen kitafahrt nach schaf riechend erde esel
wie sprachlos in sich mit wildem hetzendem blick
kam sie für sekunden sekunden fremd auf mich zu
die stufen des busses paar stufen eine
welt herab nach drei tagen so fremd. wir mussten
erst wieder suchen wo wir wir waren aufeinanderzufahren
die klebenden oder sich verfugenden ideen
die als arme hände sichtbaren waren zwischen uns
als ich sie, sie auf dem arm tragend, weiter berührte
sagte sie „au“ als hätte ich einen bart im gesicht
als hätte mein wölfischer bart sie gestreift
mein wölfischer blick.
ich hatte so lange gewartet
ich strich
© 2012, Ulrike Draesner
Poems
Poems of Ulrike Draesner
Close
WITH LITTLE BEINGS
lustous (she doesn’t ponounce r)it must be big the wanding eyes: my light buns on it
hums it nods sceams looks thinks it is the little staa mixes
and finds neitha it no us the easons aa a mud
on the wellie side leaf stuck its vein thea the tee “the magpie
is flying” black-and-white the “moon is too” whea is the fo-est?
the invisible cat eally sits on its wist out thea whea
it went till it not beaking the jaa all-edy and does the
bown eye know its chee-eeness when like hiding
what it ………… (is)
paprika mamrika
she’s been saying r for three days and
what is it “paprika” after nursery
“mamrika” she said we raughed ran
raced: to buy a bike-ber as her prize
instead of a pink riry fairy she picked a brue
one with a mouse then we sat in a café
she had cheesecake we prayed “big girs”
in other words we conversed under
swaying prane trees for wasn’t her theatle
lole the led dlagon whose eyes wele no
longer gleen . . . and tord me of fire
and srithering, how wonderfur
rife was in this fawr
wolfy
a gray child long-haired dark her brown face smeared white
small, delicate in loose clothing a gray fleece gray trousers
sturdy shoes a wolf-child, broad-shouldered in her way
coming down the few steps from the bus little thing still
after three day’s kindergarten trip smelling of sheep donkey earth
as if dumb-detached with her wild questing gaze
for seconds seconds a stranger she came towards me
down those steps of the bus just a few steps were a
world, after three days so strange. we needed to
find out where we were we first to move towards
each other those gluing or cementing ideas
that were visible as arms and hands between us
when i, carrying her in my arms, touched her more
she said “ow” as if i’d grown a beard
as if my wolfish beard had brushed her
my wolfish gaze.
i’d been waiting so long
i prowled
© 2012, Iain Galbraith
WITH LITTLE BEINGS
lustous (she doesn’t ponounce r)it must be big the wanding eyes: my light buns on it
hums it nods sceams looks thinks it is the little staa mixes
and finds neitha it no us the easons aa a mud
on the wellie side leaf stuck its vein thea the tee “the magpie
is flying” black-and-white the “moon is too” whea is the fo-est?
the invisible cat eally sits on its wist out thea whea
it went till it not beaking the jaa all-edy and does the
bown eye know its chee-eeness when like hiding
what it ………… (is)
paprika mamrika
she’s been saying r for three days and
what is it “paprika” after nursery
“mamrika” she said we raughed ran
raced: to buy a bike-ber as her prize
instead of a pink riry fairy she picked a brue
one with a mouse then we sat in a café
she had cheesecake we prayed “big girs”
in other words we conversed under
swaying prane trees for wasn’t her theatle
lole the led dlagon whose eyes wele no
longer gleen . . . and tord me of fire
and srithering, how wonderfur
rife was in this fawr
wolfy
a gray child long-haired dark her brown face smeared white
small, delicate in loose clothing a gray fleece gray trousers
sturdy shoes a wolf-child, broad-shouldered in her way
coming down the few steps from the bus little thing still
after three day’s kindergarten trip smelling of sheep donkey earth
as if dumb-detached with her wild questing gaze
for seconds seconds a stranger she came towards me
down those steps of the bus just a few steps were a
world, after three days so strange. we needed to
find out where we were we first to move towards
each other those gluing or cementing ideas
that were visible as arms and hands between us
when i, carrying her in my arms, touched her more
she said “ow” as if i’d grown a beard
as if my wolfish beard had brushed her
my wolfish gaze.
i’d been waiting so long
i prowled
© 2012, Iain Galbraith
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