Poem
Charlotte Van den Broeck
Hvannadalshnúkur
Fingertips, suction pads, don’t fall asleep nowif you don’t fall asleep now we will talk now
we can talk, here, on top of these sheets
talk about the pale hills across the water,
the sods of grass where we sat
where we hadn’t sat together yet, summers
we experienced separately, the lighter of our hair
and the longer of the days, here, on top of these sheets
make sure you don’t break now, the scorpions in my bookcase
are travelling tonight, it’s safe now, the heat
on the windows, the steam from your stories, it’s almost
morning on top of these sheets, a final hour, here
in my languid loins, stay, talk a little now
in the languidness of my loins
about: bellybuttons, the silly season, talk a distant land in my ears
the branches on sturdy trees lining the sound of the words
here, fevered dreams, here, on top of these sheets knurs for hands
and bowls of thirst, white lilies in the living room, the walls
long-forgotten blueprints, the innocence of rain worms
in a child’s mouth, we can talk here, on top of these sheets.
© Translation: 2015, Astrid Alben
Hvannadalshnúkur
Hvannadalshnúkur
Vingertoppen, zuignappen, vooral niet slapen nuals je niet gaat slapen nu, dan zullen we praten nu
dan kunnen we praten, hier, boven deze lakens
over de bleke heuvels aan de andere kant van het water
de zoden van het gras waarin we zaten
waarin we nog niet samen zaten, zomers
die we afzonderlijk meemaakten, het lichter van onze haren
en het langer van de dagen, hier, boven deze lakens
vooral niet breken nu, de schorpioenen in mijn boekenkast
zijn op reis vannacht, het is veilig nu, de warmte
op de ramen, de damp op je verhalen, het is bijna
ochtend boven deze lakens nog een laatste uur, hier
in mijn lome lendenen, blijf, nog even praten nu
in de lome lendenen van mijn lijf
over: buikholtes, komkommertijd, het verre land in mijn oren
de takken van robuuste bomen langs de klanken van de woorden
hier, koortsdromen, hier, boven deze lakens knoesten van handen
en kommen van dorst, witte lelies voor de woonkamer, de wanden
vergeten blauwdrukken, de onschuld van regenwormen
in een kindermond, we kunnen praten hier, boven deze lakens.
© 2015, Charlotte van den Broeck
From: Kameleon
Publisher: De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam/Antwerpen
From: Kameleon
Publisher: De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam/Antwerpen
Poems
Poems of Charlotte Van den Broeck
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Hvannadalshnúkur
Fingertips, suction pads, don’t fall asleep nowif you don’t fall asleep now we will talk now
we can talk, here, on top of these sheets
talk about the pale hills across the water,
the sods of grass where we sat
where we hadn’t sat together yet, summers
we experienced separately, the lighter of our hair
and the longer of the days, here, on top of these sheets
make sure you don’t break now, the scorpions in my bookcase
are travelling tonight, it’s safe now, the heat
on the windows, the steam from your stories, it’s almost
morning on top of these sheets, a final hour, here
in my languid loins, stay, talk a little now
in the languidness of my loins
about: bellybuttons, the silly season, talk a distant land in my ears
the branches on sturdy trees lining the sound of the words
here, fevered dreams, here, on top of these sheets knurs for hands
and bowls of thirst, white lilies in the living room, the walls
long-forgotten blueprints, the innocence of rain worms
in a child’s mouth, we can talk here, on top of these sheets.
© 2015, Astrid Alben
From: Kameleon
From: Kameleon
Hvannadalshnúkur
Fingertips, suction pads, don’t fall asleep nowif you don’t fall asleep now we will talk now
we can talk, here, on top of these sheets
talk about the pale hills across the water,
the sods of grass where we sat
where we hadn’t sat together yet, summers
we experienced separately, the lighter of our hair
and the longer of the days, here, on top of these sheets
make sure you don’t break now, the scorpions in my bookcase
are travelling tonight, it’s safe now, the heat
on the windows, the steam from your stories, it’s almost
morning on top of these sheets, a final hour, here
in my languid loins, stay, talk a little now
in the languidness of my loins
about: bellybuttons, the silly season, talk a distant land in my ears
the branches on sturdy trees lining the sound of the words
here, fevered dreams, here, on top of these sheets knurs for hands
and bowls of thirst, white lilies in the living room, the walls
long-forgotten blueprints, the innocence of rain worms
in a child’s mouth, we can talk here, on top of these sheets.
© 2015, Astrid Alben
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