Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Miguel-Manso

[ANNEMARIE SCHWARZENBACH]

i’m watching her:  
sweet the alp in the angle of her jaw
when she wakes

the canvas soaked at dawn
the grass outside darkens just as the sun rising  
dilutes sleep
the mules feed off the fleeting
boreal pastures

before us a way opens up
luminously
glued to keeping quiet
to moving

but a breeze already inflames
making us want for a lake, placing
a range on the horizon
a less uncrossable elevation
than the lowlands of lived life

we say goodbye to the humid moss
fingered between thighs
stir the last pleasure out of the little
campfire that crackled
at the shelter’s opening through the long cold hours

we stuff rucksacks
leather and straps tested
we fixed our hair
munch a bit of flour
shredded bits of jerky
swigs of steaming coffee

we, the soldiers of Alexander
whom nights of whiskey never fell
whose boots don’t weigh a thing
nor shame the fevers

the rectangle left by the tent
will remain for a while marking the plot of grass
stones ringing what had been
a scintillating flame later gone dark
now pasture to the scent of the timid
animals that will wander in
sounding out this sullied bit of the scene 

at this very moment our scent
sails through narrow ravines
mixed with the dust and the clamor of hoofs that brings us
straying close on the edge of precipices

our own echoing
will embarrass us
but within – more silence even than the gorse
on the cliff sides –

and hardened, soaked with mist, atypical
arching over our maps
opening compasses
jotting quick notes about the way
and the error

more goat than us more mountainous: life
this leather hard to tan

[ANNEMARIE SCHWARZENBACH]

ik kijk naar haar:
het tedere knooppunt van de kaakhoek
als ze ontwaakt

het tentdoek is doorweekt in de dageraad
buiten kleurt het gras naarmate de ster stijgt
verdunt de slaap
de muilezels voeden zich van de vluchtige
noordelijke weiden

voor ons de geledingen van een weg
die oplicht
aaneensluit in zwijgen
in bewegen

slechts een ademtocht zet weer in vlam
hergeeft ons het verlangen naar een meer, plaatst
de bergketen aan de horizon
minder onoverschrijdbare verhoging
dan de vlakte van het geleefde

we nemen afscheid van het klamme mos
betast tussen dijen
schudden af wat restte van het genot
het kleine vuur dat aan de mond van de schutplek
lange koude uren knetterde

we proppen rugzakken vol
leerwerk en bindsels beproefd
haren gefatsoeneerd
brengen we wat meel naar onze tanden
draadjes gedroogd vlees
slokken dampende koffie

wij, soldates van Alexander
die nimmer door de avondwhisky zijn gevloerd
wie de laarzen niet zwaar zijn
noch de koortsen kwellen

de rechthoek waarop de tent verbleef
zal een poos staan afgetekend op het gazon
met de stenen rondom wat
de vonkende vlam was die later zwart werd
en weidegrond is voor de snuit van de schichtige
fauna die dit bevuilde deel
van de plek zal komen verkennen

tegen die tijd zal onze geur
zweven door ravijnen bergpassen
vermengd met het stof en het hoefgekletter waarmee
we langs de afgronden dwalen

we zullen echo’s voortbrengen die onze schaamte
doen verschieten
maar inwendig – wij zwijgzamer dan boomhei
op de hoge rotsen –

en hard, bedauwd, schaars
de blik buigend over de kaarten
kompassen openklappend
notities makend over de koers
en het bedrog

meer geit dan wij meer klip: het leven
die gems die zich moeilijk laat looien

[ANNEMARIE SCHWARZENBACH]

olho-a:
doce o vértice no ângulo da maxila
quando acorda

a lona ensopou na aurora
fora a erva tinge tanto quanto o astro sobalça
dilui o sono
as mulas nutrem-se das fátuas
pastagens boreais

à nossa frente um caminho articula
iluminante
colado ao calar-se
ao mover-se

mas já um sopro inflama
devolve-nos o desejo de um lago, põe
no horizonte a cordilheira
elevação menos intransponível
que a planície do vivido

despedimo-nos do musgo úvido
digitado entre coxas 
sacudimos o que sobrou do gozo
o pequeno lumaréu que à boca do abrigo
longas frias horas crepitou

atufamos mochilas
testados couros e ataduras
aprumados os cabelos
levamos aos dentes um pouco de farinha
fiapos de carne seca
tragos de café fumegante 

nós, soldadas de Alexandre
a quem o whiskey dos serões jamais tombou
e as botas não pesam
nem vexam as febres

o rectângulo onde a tenda demorou
ficará por um tempo assinalado no gazão
com as pedras a rodear o que foi
a labareda cintilante que depois negrejou
e é pasto para o faro da medrosa
fauna que virá
sondar esta parte sujada do lugar

por essa altura o nosso odor
planará por ravinas desfiladeiros
misturado com o pó e o estrépito dos cascos com que
erramos à beira dos abismos

produziremos ecos de que o nosso pudor 
se acanhará
mas por dentro – tácitas mais que a estorga
dos penhascos –

e duras, róridas, raras
abaulando a vista sobre os mapas
destapando bússolas
tirando pequenas notas sobre o rumo
e o engano

mais cabra que nós mais montês: a vida
essa camurça difícil de curtir
Close

[ANNEMARIE SCHWARZENBACH]

i’m watching her:  
sweet the alp in the angle of her jaw
when she wakes

the canvas soaked at dawn
the grass outside darkens just as the sun rising  
dilutes sleep
the mules feed off the fleeting
boreal pastures

before us a way opens up
luminously
glued to keeping quiet
to moving

but a breeze already inflames
making us want for a lake, placing
a range on the horizon
a less uncrossable elevation
than the lowlands of lived life

we say goodbye to the humid moss
fingered between thighs
stir the last pleasure out of the little
campfire that crackled
at the shelter’s opening through the long cold hours

we stuff rucksacks
leather and straps tested
we fixed our hair
munch a bit of flour
shredded bits of jerky
swigs of steaming coffee

we, the soldiers of Alexander
whom nights of whiskey never fell
whose boots don’t weigh a thing
nor shame the fevers

the rectangle left by the tent
will remain for a while marking the plot of grass
stones ringing what had been
a scintillating flame later gone dark
now pasture to the scent of the timid
animals that will wander in
sounding out this sullied bit of the scene 

at this very moment our scent
sails through narrow ravines
mixed with the dust and the clamor of hoofs that brings us
straying close on the edge of precipices

our own echoing
will embarrass us
but within – more silence even than the gorse
on the cliff sides –

and hardened, soaked with mist, atypical
arching over our maps
opening compasses
jotting quick notes about the way
and the error

more goat than us more mountainous: life
this leather hard to tan

[ANNEMARIE SCHWARZENBACH]

i’m watching her:  
sweet the alp in the angle of her jaw
when she wakes

the canvas soaked at dawn
the grass outside darkens just as the sun rising  
dilutes sleep
the mules feed off the fleeting
boreal pastures

before us a way opens up
luminously
glued to keeping quiet
to moving

but a breeze already inflames
making us want for a lake, placing
a range on the horizon
a less uncrossable elevation
than the lowlands of lived life

we say goodbye to the humid moss
fingered between thighs
stir the last pleasure out of the little
campfire that crackled
at the shelter’s opening through the long cold hours

we stuff rucksacks
leather and straps tested
we fixed our hair
munch a bit of flour
shredded bits of jerky
swigs of steaming coffee

we, the soldiers of Alexander
whom nights of whiskey never fell
whose boots don’t weigh a thing
nor shame the fevers

the rectangle left by the tent
will remain for a while marking the plot of grass
stones ringing what had been
a scintillating flame later gone dark
now pasture to the scent of the timid
animals that will wander in
sounding out this sullied bit of the scene 

at this very moment our scent
sails through narrow ravines
mixed with the dust and the clamor of hoofs that brings us
straying close on the edge of precipices

our own echoing
will embarrass us
but within – more silence even than the gorse
on the cliff sides –

and hardened, soaked with mist, atypical
arching over our maps
opening compasses
jotting quick notes about the way
and the error

more goat than us more mountainous: life
this leather hard to tan
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
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