Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Elke de Rijcke

FROM THE ROAD TO VÄSTERÅS 13

the first part of the road was segmented.

we had to go down into a supermarket
where emotions waited in the freezer.

a neon light weighed on my eyelids.

it was sunday and few cars filled the parking lot.

the heat fell over our fatigue and the car blared under our bags.

a large cart drove me through the aisles and I filled the basket.

my daughter dashed and disappeared among the stalls,
defying her babysitter with the dangling arms who
without a coo on her lips and without reaching out her hand
leaned backwards,
whereas with the child one has to lean forward.

I hovered without resignation over my inability to be with
the child and my purchases.

the charges, the surcharges turned about in my chest
and I couldn't manage to get rid of them.

my heart informed me that I no longer knew how take up the gloves
to take the situation in hand.

and in the observation of my incapacity
I had to let myself be traversed
by what was beyond me.

even my voice no longer had the strength to rise or restrain itself.

I whispered to make myself heard
and I was immoderate with respect to my disqualification.

DE LA ROUTE JUSQU\'À VÄSTERÅS 13

DE LA ROUTE JUSQU\'À VÄSTERÅS 13

la première partie de la route était segmentée.

il nous fallait descendre dans un supermarché
où les émotions attendaient au congélateur.

une lumière néonisée pesait sur mes paupières.

il était dimanche et peu de voitures remplissaient le parking.

il faisait chaud sur notre fatigue et la voiture beuglait sous nos bagages.

un grand chariot me conduisait par les rayons et je remplissais la corbeille.

ma fille courait de ses jambes et disparaissait dans les étals,
défiant sa babysit aux mains ballantes qui
d'aucune effusion de lèvres et d'aucune main
penchait en arrière,
alors qu'avec l'enfant il faut pencher vers l'avant.

je planais sans résignation sur mon impuissance à être auprès de
l'enfant et de mes achats.

les charges, les surcharges tournoyaient dans ma poitrine
et je n'arrivais pas à les évacuer.

mon cœur me signifiait que je ne savais plus me munir de gants
pour prendre la situation en main.

et dans le constat de mon incapacité
il fallait que je me laisse traverser
par ce qui me dépassait.

même ma voix n'avait plus la force de s'élever ou de restreindre.

je chuchotais pour me faire entendre
et j'étais sans mesure par rapport à ma disqualification.
Close

FROM THE ROAD TO VÄSTERÅS 13

the first part of the road was segmented.

we had to go down into a supermarket
where emotions waited in the freezer.

a neon light weighed on my eyelids.

it was sunday and few cars filled the parking lot.

the heat fell over our fatigue and the car blared under our bags.

a large cart drove me through the aisles and I filled the basket.

my daughter dashed and disappeared among the stalls,
defying her babysitter with the dangling arms who
without a coo on her lips and without reaching out her hand
leaned backwards,
whereas with the child one has to lean forward.

I hovered without resignation over my inability to be with
the child and my purchases.

the charges, the surcharges turned about in my chest
and I couldn't manage to get rid of them.

my heart informed me that I no longer knew how take up the gloves
to take the situation in hand.

and in the observation of my incapacity
I had to let myself be traversed
by what was beyond me.

even my voice no longer had the strength to rise or restrain itself.

I whispered to make myself heard
and I was immoderate with respect to my disqualification.

FROM THE ROAD TO VÄSTERÅS 13

the first part of the road was segmented.

we had to go down into a supermarket
where emotions waited in the freezer.

a neon light weighed on my eyelids.

it was sunday and few cars filled the parking lot.

the heat fell over our fatigue and the car blared under our bags.

a large cart drove me through the aisles and I filled the basket.

my daughter dashed and disappeared among the stalls,
defying her babysitter with the dangling arms who
without a coo on her lips and without reaching out her hand
leaned backwards,
whereas with the child one has to lean forward.

I hovered without resignation over my inability to be with
the child and my purchases.

the charges, the surcharges turned about in my chest
and I couldn't manage to get rid of them.

my heart informed me that I no longer knew how take up the gloves
to take the situation in hand.

and in the observation of my incapacity
I had to let myself be traversed
by what was beyond me.

even my voice no longer had the strength to rise or restrain itself.

I whispered to make myself heard
and I was immoderate with respect to my disqualification.
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