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5 Poems Translated by Cynthia Graae and Michael Favala Goldman

Five poems from

The Adults by Tove Ditlevsen

Original title: De Voksne Ⓒ 1969

Translated from the Danish

by Cynthia Graae and Michael Favala Goldman

with permission of Gyldendal Publishing

 


Death 2

 

The old man

rises early.

Not all 

his thoughts

can be collected.

Like children always on the move

and out too late

they stumble and scrape their shins

on Jylland’s roads.  

 

He sits quietly on

a bench in the sun.

The other old people

rarely speak to him.

He is hard of hearing and strange  

he reads books

rarely receives

letters or visitors.

 

He is the oldest of them

he must be brought in

by an attendant  

when it’s time to eat.  

 

His hands shake

violently nothing 

serious the doctor shouts   

in his ear.

 

Trolleys rattle  

right through the room.

The old man knows

he is a great-grandfather.

His eldest son is sixty

and time runs out

like raindrops along

a backyard downspout.

 

He falls asleep and

dreams of his wife

who is always young

in his memory.

She unpacks a lunch

in Søndermarken

and plays with their

spindly, growing children. 

 

He wakes many times

feels pain

in his lower back is alone 

and confused

and very far from

joy and sorrow.

 

Tomorrow he will get

a hearing aid. 

Death is as

distant as the horizon.

 

 

 

Døden 2

 

Den gamle mand

står tidligt op.

Hans tanker

kan ikke alle

kaldes hjem til cellen.

Som børn der altid er

for sent på færde

snubler de og slår skank 

på jyske veje.

 

Han sidder stille på

en bænk i solen.

De andre gamle

taler sjældent til ham.

Han er lidt døv og sær

han læser bøger

får næsten aldrig

breve og besøg.

 

Han er den ældste af dem

han må hentes

af plejeren når han

skal ind at spise.

 

Hans hænder ryster

voldsomt ikke noget

alvorligt råber lægen

ind i øret.

 

Sporvogne rasler

tværs igennem stuen.

Den gamle ved

at han er oldefar.

Hans ældste søn er tres

og tiden rinder

som dråber langs

en baggårds nedløbsrør.

 

Han sover ind og

drømmer om sin kone

som altid kun er ung

i hans erindring.

Hun pakker maden ud

i Søndermarken

og leger med

de smalle voksebørn.

 

Han vågner mange gange

føler smerte

i lænden er alene

og forvirret

og meget langt fra

lykke og fra sorg.

 

I morgen får han

høreapparatet.

Døden er så

fjern som horisonten.

 

 

 


Longing

 

I long

to age

to be dulled

and calcify

with taste buds

that are only excited

by strong

spices

with eyes that 

only see

very bright

colors

and ears that

only hear

the most intense

noise.

 

I long for 

oblivion

to 

all

life’s sorrows

for the dimming

of emotions

clinging

to 

that which is dead and 

gone

which no one

remembers

which no one

can affect

or change

in any way.

 

I long

for brittleness

and aching in

all my bones.

Protection

until death

against all kinds of

desire.

Protection

against the blood’s

doomed

heated rage

and in the small

of my back 

the white pain 

of absence.

 

Life feels

so

long

these

spring nights

with their

cruel sweetness

for one who  

is alone.

Oh let me

age quickly

and desire

nothing

and never again

be desired

except by   

my death.

 

 

 

Længsel

 

Jeg længes efter

at ældes

at sløves

og forkalke

med smagsløg

der kun pirres

af stærke

krydderier

me øjne der

kun ser

de meget klare

farver

og øren der

kun hører

den voldsomste

støj.

 

Jeg længes

mod glemslen

af alle

livets sørger

mod følelsernes

blegnen

og klamren

sig til

det døde og

forsvunde

som ingen

andre husker

som ingen

kan berøre

og ændre

noget ved.

 

Jeg længes

efter skørhed

og værk i

alle knogler.

Sikkerhed

til døden

mod alle slags

begær.

Sikkerhed

mod blodets

fordømte

hede rasen

og savnets

hvide smerte

over den

trætte lænd.

 

Så langt

dog livet

føles

i disse

forårsnætter

med deres

onde sødme

for den som

er alene.

Å lad mig

hastigt ældes

og ingenting

begære

og aldrig mer

begæres

af andre

end min død.

 

 

 


Divorce 3

 

It is not easy

to be alone

other people

have impatient

waiting-room eyes.

The floor pulls

the steps out from

under you.

You hang on by

your arms from

hour to hour.

A vocabulary

of about

a hundred words

was not

divided up.

 

The yearning for

something unpleasant

the absence of

strong smells.

Stale smoke

in the curtains.

 

The bed is

now too wide.

Your girlfriends leave

when it’s time to put on potatoes.

 

Freedom

arrives

on the next train

an unknown

traveler

who is not

fond of children.

The dog is

agitated

sniffs at

the wrong trouser legs

will soon

be in heat.

You read

books

watch television

comprehend

nothing

are suddenly

very happy

in the morning

and disconsolate

by evening.

 

It is a phase

say your girlfriends

something you have to

go through.

Weightless as an

astronaut

you hover       

in empty rooms

and wait

for the freedom

to do

what you

no longer

want.

 

 

 

Skilsmisse 3

 

Det er ikke let

at være alene

andre mennesker

har utålmodige

ventesalsøjne.

Gulvet trækker

skridtene bort

under en.

Man går

armgang fra

time til time.

Et ordforråd

på cirka

hundrede

kom ikke med

i bodelingen.

 

Savnet efter

noget ubehageligt

manglen på 

stærke lugte.

Kold røg

i gardinerne.

 

Sengen er

for brød nu.

Veninderne går

ved kartoffeltid.

 

Fridheden

kommer først

med næste tog

en ukendt

rejsende

der ikke

holder af børn.

Hunden er

urolig

snuser til

forkerte bukseben

har snart

løbetid.

 

Man læser

bøger

ser fjernsyn

opfatter

ingenting

er pludselig

meget lykkelig

om morgenen

og fortvivlet

inden aften. 

 

Det er en overgang

siger veninderne

noget man skal

igennem.

Vægtløs som en

astronaut

svæver man rundt

i tomme stuer

og venter

på friheden

til at gøre

hvad man

ikke mere

lar lyst til.

 

 

 


The Adults 1

 

In the morning

yearning is 

detached from its object

and is like

a thirst

no earthly

spring can quench.

 

The longing is

not for anyone

in particular

only life is

divided into a

before and after.

 

Once

it was good

to wake

and know

you were

only dreaming.

Now you are living

inside the dream

and know that

in reality

all the

adults are away

and are never

coming home.

 

 

 

De voksne 1

 

Om morgenen

er savnet

løst fra sin genstand

og er som

en tørst

ingen jordisk

kilde kan slukke.

 

Længslen gælder

ikke nogen

bestemt

kun er livet

delt i et

før og efter.

 

Før var

det godt

at vågne

og vide

man kun

havde drømt.

Nu bor man

inde i drømmen

og ved det

er virkelighed

at alle

de voksne er borte

og aldrig

kommer hjem.

 

 

 


Tove Ditlevsen (1917-1976) was one of the most notable Danish literary personalities of the twentieth century. She enjoyed great popularity as a writer of both poetry and prose. She used her poor upbringing, her fragile psyche, and her long-standing problems with relationships and narcotics as sources of inspiration for her writing. The result was a long list of unique, honest, uncompromising works with which countless readers have identified. Ditlevsen wrote more than 30 books, including the three memoirs of The Copenhagen Trilogy, recently published in translation by Penguin Classics and FSG.

Danish translator Michael Favala Goldman (b. 1966) is also a poet, educator and jazz clarinetist. Among his sixteen translated books are Dependency by Tove Ditlevsen, The Water Farm Trilogy by Cecil Bødker, and Something To Live Up To, Selected Poems of Benny Andersen. Goldman’s books of original poetry include Who has time for this? (2020), Slow Phoenix (2021) and Small Sovereign (2021). His work has appeared in numerous literary journals and has received rave reviews in the New York Times and The London Times. He lives in Massachusetts, USA, where he has been running poetry critique groups since 2018. www.michaelfavalagoldman.com

Cynthia Graae’s fiction, nonfiction, and translation have been published in the Westview News, Kinder Link, The Washington Review, Paragraph, The Bridge, Canadian Women Studies: les cahiers de la femme, the Hill Rag, Humans in the Wild (a Swallow Press anthology about gun violence), and online on the HuffPost, Barren Magazine, and Maine Public websites. She is currently working on a collection of stories. She lives in New York City and Hiram, Maine. 


9 December 2021



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