Three poems by Lunette Elle Warren

Naguil

middernag (alweer) en my ore sing
seker om die geraas
van jou stem te onderdruk
ek moet jou uit my uit skryf
hierdie keer dig ek jou
(wat ‘n meisie se vel
by die voordeur voorgekeer het)
+++++++++++++dood

jy wat in ‘n wit kis gebore is
en seker so ook sal sterwe
waardig begrawe en waardig ontbind
twee dogters, een dogter, geen dogters later

en al wat van jou oor is
is ‘n leë grafsteen
onder ‘n dooie boom


Nocturnal (English translation)

midnight (again) and my ears are ringing
probably to blot out
your raucous voice
I have to write you out of me
this time I’ll pen you
(who barred a girl’s skin
at the front door)
+++++++++++++to death

you who were born in a white casket
and likely to die there
nobly buried and nobly decayed
two daughters, one daughter, no daughters later

and all that’s left of you
an empty tombstone
under a dead tree

Versoeningsvers

wat weet jy
van getrou wees?

daar is die
vir wie tragedie
as geleentheid voorkom

ons is al nagenoeg
ses jaar
van mekaar geskei
deur geen hof
of grens
slegs my eie
nalatigheid

ek is gif

gister was ek te laat
ek het die blomme
op jou grafsteen
agtergelaat.

Reconciliation Verse (English translation)

what do you know
of loyalty?

there are those
to whom tragedy
appears as opportunity

we are nearly
six years
divorced
through no court
or border
merely my own
negligence

I am poison

yesterday I was too late
I left the flowers
on your grave.

Fokof nou

hier binne
waar die lig in die hoeke opdam
bewe die mure
en my voete is vuil
en vuil en vuil en vuil

skree drie keer as ek jou
raak skryf; ’n gewone vers
is nie goed genoeg nie
: my ligamente is al moeg

hier binne (waar, binne)
stink dit na sweet
en ‘n woede wat sidder
al langs ons verskuiwingslyn

ek meet my gemoed selfs nou
aan jou; ‘n gebroke vers
wat my nie meer steur nie
: my ligamente is al rou

jy is gister
en ek en ek en ek
is vandag

++++++++++*


Now Fuck Off

in here
where light piles up in the corners
the walls tremble
and my feet are foul
and foul and foul and foul

shout three times if I
make you write; a normal verse
isn’t good enough
: my muscles have grown tired

in here (where, here)
it stinks of sweat
and a rage that shudders
all along our fault line

even now I measure my mood
by you; a broken verse
that doesn’t plague me anymore
: my muscles have gone raw

you are yesterday
and I and I and I
am today

Google GmailTumblrFacebookPinterestTwitterWhatsApp
Tagged with: ,
Posted in Uncategorized
Archives