Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Thomas Möhlmann

The Buried Woman

There was rain in the air
and humming in the ground.
I knelt and looked straight
into her face. With the earth

on her fingers and the spade
across her shoulder she led me
through the start of the rain
into the house.

Mumbling followed and a rummaging
with cooking utensils. No, I have nothing
to eat, but plenty of pots and pans
for when it rains and a shoe and a chicken
that sometimes lays an egg, somewhere.

When everything has been carefully arranged
and not a drop falls on the floor any more
she sinks down on the bed and, humming
all the while, builds a new hole

in between snores she sings a little

my husband left me his left shoe
I did not bear a son
whom it fits.

De ingegraven vrouw

De ingegraven vrouw

Er zat regen in de lucht
en geneurie in de grond.
Ik knielde en keek recht
in haar gezicht. Met de aarde

aan haar vingers en de schep
over haar schouder ging ze me
door het begin van een bui voor
naar huis.

Gemompel volgde en gerommel
met keukengerei. Nee, ik heb niets
te eten, maar potjes en pannen genoeg
voor als het regent en een schoen
en een kip die soms een ei legt, ergens.

Als alles naar plan gerangschikt is
en er geen druppel meer op de vloer valt
laat ze zich zakken op het bed en bouwt
ze neuriënd een nieuwe kuil

tussen het snurken zingt ze nog

mijn man liet me zijn linkerschoen na
ik heb geen zoon gebaard
die hem past.
Close

The Buried Woman

There was rain in the air
and humming in the ground.
I knelt and looked straight
into her face. With the earth

on her fingers and the spade
across her shoulder she led me
through the start of the rain
into the house.

Mumbling followed and a rummaging
with cooking utensils. No, I have nothing
to eat, but plenty of pots and pans
for when it rains and a shoe and a chicken
that sometimes lays an egg, somewhere.

When everything has been carefully arranged
and not a drop falls on the floor any more
she sinks down on the bed and, humming
all the while, builds a new hole

in between snores she sings a little

my husband left me his left shoe
I did not bear a son
whom it fits.

The Buried Woman

There was rain in the air
and humming in the ground.
I knelt and looked straight
into her face. With the earth

on her fingers and the spade
across her shoulder she led me
through the start of the rain
into the house.

Mumbling followed and a rummaging
with cooking utensils. No, I have nothing
to eat, but plenty of pots and pans
for when it rains and a shoe and a chicken
that sometimes lays an egg, somewhere.

When everything has been carefully arranged
and not a drop falls on the floor any more
she sinks down on the bed and, humming
all the while, builds a new hole

in between snores she sings a little

my husband left me his left shoe
I did not bear a son
whom it fits.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère