Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Erik Solvanger

'On the outside'

On the outside she’s a floppy doll, we push her
into the narrow tunnel, take pictures of her tiny head.

Images full of motion artefacts, she’s afraid
that this will be her tomb, the woman who gave birth to me.

We sing songs to comfort her, a smokescreen
for the trap we meticulously prepared.

I’m sorry, it took some effort but I have found someone
prepared to collect you and who wants to melt you down 

into a statue of an animal belonging to a wiped-out race
that existed quite a long time ago, which is far more interesting.

That way, I’ll be able to read about you in books penned
by people who completed their PhDs on extinct animals.
 

After much navigational artistry and luck, I find you again,
an ice-cold clump of cells detached from the perfused mucosa.
 

I better melt you down first, and only then ask what
do you think of the result, is it better than who you were?

'Aan de buitenkant'

'Aan de buitenkant'

Aan de buitenkant is ze een lamme pop, we duwen haar
de nauwe tunnel in, maken foto’s van haar kleine hoofd. 

 

Beelden vol bewegingsartefacten, bang is ze
dat dit haar tombe is, de vrouw die mij baarde. 

 

We zingen liedjes om haar gerust te stellen,
verbloemen de val die we minutieus voorbereidden. 

 

Het spijt me, het kostte wat moeite maar ik heb iemand
gevonden die je wil komen halen en je wil omsmelten 

 

in een beeld van een dier dat tot een uitgeroeid ras behoort
van behoorlijk lang geleden, dat is veel interessanter ook. 

 

Zo kan ik over je lezen in boeken geschreven door mensen
die aan universiteiten promoveerden op uitgestorven beesten. 

Na veel navigatiekunst en geluk vind ik je terug, een ijskoud
klompje cellen losgeraakt van het doorbloede slijmvlies. 

 

Beter dat ik je eerst laat omsmelten en dan aan je vraag
wat vind je van het resultaat, is het beter dan wie je was?

Close

'On the outside'

On the outside she’s a floppy doll, we push her
into the narrow tunnel, take pictures of her tiny head.

Images full of motion artefacts, she’s afraid
that this will be her tomb, the woman who gave birth to me.

We sing songs to comfort her, a smokescreen
for the trap we meticulously prepared.

I’m sorry, it took some effort but I have found someone
prepared to collect you and who wants to melt you down 

into a statue of an animal belonging to a wiped-out race
that existed quite a long time ago, which is far more interesting.

That way, I’ll be able to read about you in books penned
by people who completed their PhDs on extinct animals.
 

After much navigational artistry and luck, I find you again,
an ice-cold clump of cells detached from the perfused mucosa.
 

I better melt you down first, and only then ask what
do you think of the result, is it better than who you were?

'On the outside'

On the outside she’s a floppy doll, we push her
into the narrow tunnel, take pictures of her tiny head.

Images full of motion artefacts, she’s afraid
that this will be her tomb, the woman who gave birth to me.

We sing songs to comfort her, a smokescreen
for the trap we meticulously prepared.

I’m sorry, it took some effort but I have found someone
prepared to collect you and who wants to melt you down 

into a statue of an animal belonging to a wiped-out race
that existed quite a long time ago, which is far more interesting.

That way, I’ll be able to read about you in books penned
by people who completed their PhDs on extinct animals.
 

After much navigational artistry and luck, I find you again,
an ice-cold clump of cells detached from the perfused mucosa.
 

I better melt you down first, and only then ask what
do you think of the result, is it better than who you were?

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