{"id":17590,"date":"2024-02-18T08:00:00","date_gmt":"2024-02-18T07:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.poesiegalerie.at\/wordpress\/?p=17590"},"modified":"2024-02-20T11:17:15","modified_gmt":"2024-02-20T10:17:15","slug":"poems-of-margret-kreidl-in-english","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.poesiegalerie.at\/wordpress\/2024\/02\/18\/poems-of-margret-kreidl-in-english\/","title":{"rendered":"Poems of Margret Kreidl in English"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Margret Kreidl<\/a><\/h3>\n\n\n
\n
\"\"
Margret Kreidl<\/strong>, * 1964 in Salzburg, Austria (\u00a9 Lucas Cejpek)
<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n

Translation: Geoffrey C. Howes<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ein gelber Satz<\/strong><\/em>\n\nDer Mann steht im Ginster, eine Flasche\nin der Hand. Das ist Gin, sagt er, Wiener\nGin, mit Holundernote, zum Niederknien.\nHut ab, sage ich. Er lacht und l\u00e4sst \ndie Flasche fallen. Siehst du: Es rinnt.\nIch bin nicht blind. Er rei\u00dft die Arme\nhoch: Wir schwimmen im Ginster. Im Juli\nbaden kann jeder, sage ich. Willst du\ntanzen? fragt er. Ich kann nicht tanzen.\nEr nimmt mich an der Hand. Z\u00e4hl mit.\nEins: Schritt, und schlie\u00dfen, zwei: Schritt.\nEin Wischer nach rechts, ein Wischer\nnach links, langsam, weich. Und aus der\nH\u00fcfte schwingen, vor und zur\u00fcck, federn\nund flie\u00dfen. Ich komme nicht mit. Mach\ndie Augen zu, sagt er. Was siehst du?\nIch sehe Ginster. Ja, das ist ein gelber\nSatz. Nein, sage ich, es ist finster und\nich muss zwanzig Zeilen mit einem\nT\u00e4nzer teilen.\n\n\nA Yellow Sentence\t\t\t<\/strong><\/em>\n\nThe man stands amidst the gorse, a bottle\nin his hand. That\u2019s gin, he says, Vienna\ngin, with notes of elderflower, to die for.\t\nMy hat\u2019s off to you, I say. He laughs and drops\nthe bottle. You see: it\u2019s trickling.\nI\u2019m not blind. His arms shoot\t\t\t\nupward: We\u2019re swimming in gorse. Anybody, \nI say, can swim in July. Do you want \nto dance? he asks. I can\u2019t dance.\nHe takes me by the hand. Count with me.\nOne: step and close, two: step. \nA whisk to the right, a whisk\nto the left, slow and supple. And swing\nyour hips, back and forth, flexing\t\t\t\nand flowing. I can\u2019t keep up. Close\nyour eyes, he says. What do you see?\nI see gorse. Yes, that is a yellow \nsentence. No, I say, it is dark and\nI must share twenty lines\nwith a dancer. <\/pre>\n\n\n\n
Krempelsatz<\/strong><\/em>\n\nDie Stimme von Leonard Cohen an einem\nSommernachmittag hinter geschlossenen\nJalousien: Take this waltz<\/em>, ein Foto von\nLacramioara Pop, die Barm\u00e4dchen im Caf\u00e9 \ndes Anges in Paris war, ein schroffes Gebet \nvon Ren\u00e9 Char, die Beschreibung einer \nAschekiste, die eine etruskische Urne ist, \nder lange Stengel roter Zwillingslilien aus \neinem Sappho-Fragment von Hilda Doolittle,\nAndere gelbe Tulpen <\/em>von Luis Cernuda,\nder einen Nachruf auf Lorca geschrieben hat:\nDas Salz unserer Welt warst du<\/em>, ein Rezept\nf\u00fcr Flammende Eier mit Chorizo: Jede andere\nPaprikasalami ist ein guter Ersatz, ein Schuss\nGin, Holler, Hollunder, H\u00f6lderlin \u2013 in einem\nKrempelsatz hat Vieles Platz. Das ist Mist,\npoetischer Plunder, sagt der Germanist,\njetzt r\u00e4umen wir auf. Nein, sage ich, der Satz\ngeht weiter und er wird in seinem Verlauf\nzum Tanzboden f\u00fcr zwei Dichterinnen.\n\n\nJunk Sentence <\/em><\/strong>\n\nLeonard Cohen\u2019s voice on a\nsummer afternoon behind closed \nblinds: Take this waltz,<\/em> a photo of\nLacramioara Pop, who was a barmaid\nin the Caf\u00e9 des Anges in Paris, a brusque prayer\nby Ren\u00e9 Char, describing a cinerary container,\t\nwhich is an Etruscan urn, the long stems\nof red gemini lilies from \na Sappho fragment by Hilda Doolittle, \nOther Yellow Tulips<\/em> by Luis Cernuda, \nwho wrote an elegy for Lorca:\nYou were the salt of our world,<\/em> a recipe\nfor Flemish eggs with chorizo: any other\npaprika salami is a good substitute, a shot\nof gin, elderberry, elder, H\u00f6lderlin \u2013 there\u2019s\nroom for lots of things in a junk sentence. That\u2019s crap,\npoetical trinkets, the Germanist says,\t\t\t\t\nwe\u2019re going to clean this place up. No, I say, the sentence\ncontinues and in its course it will become\na dancefloor for two women poets. <\/pre>\n\n\n\n
S\u00e4tze f\u00fcrs Leben<\/strong><\/em>\n\nIch, Kreidl Margarete\nrauchte t\u00e4glich 60 Zigaretten,\njetzt rauche ich nicht mehr\nund schreibe Gedichte \u00fcber das Meer,\nSeesterne und Zementdr\u00fcsen,\nImkerbunker und gr\u00fcne Wiesen,\nWei\u00dfe Ritter und Schuldenkrisen\nund \u00fcber meinen Vater,\nder Hilfsarbeiter war\nund zu mir sagte:\nWir geh\u00f6ren nicht zu den Gewinnern.\nJa, ich bin ich bin ich bin das Kind\neines Hilfsarbeiters und ich bin Dichterin,\nich wei\u00df, was S\u00e4tze f\u00fcrs Leben sind.\n\n\nLife Sentences\t\t\t\t\t<\/em><\/strong>\n\nI, Margarete Kreidl\nonce smoked 60 cigarettes a day.\nI don\u2019t smoke anymore, see,  \t\t\t\nbut I write poems about the sea,\nstarfish and cement glands,\nbeekeepers\u2019 bunkers and green meadows,\nwhite knights and debt crises\nand about my father,\nwho was an unskilled worker\nand who said to me:we do not belong to the winners. \nYes, I am I am I am the child \nof an unskilled worker and I\u2019m a poet,\nI know what life sentences are. <\/pre>\n\n\n\n
Mein Schiff f\u00e4hrt nicht, es l\u00e4uft:\nein lebendes Werk. Mein Schiff liegt \ngut im Wasser. Leichtes Wetter, \numlaufende Winde. Das Lateinsegel\nist gesetzt und das dunkle Blau w\u00e4chst\n\u00fcber den Horizont hinaus.\nKein Leuchtfeuer,\nkein Fischerlicht.\nIch sehe die K\u00f6rper, \ndie auf dem Grund liegen:\ndas tote Werk.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nDas Lateinsegel ist eine Erfindung der fr\u00fchen arabischen Schifffahrt.\n\n\n\nMy ship doesn\u2019t sail, it runs:\na living artifact. My ship rides\t\t\t \nwell in the water. Mild weather,\ncirculating winds. The lateen sail\nis set and the dark blue grows\nout beyond the horizon. \nNo beacon light,\nno fishing light.\nI see the bodies \nlying on the bottom:\nthe dead artifacts. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThe lateen sail is an invention of early Arabian navigation.\n<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
Ein Tapetenmuster aus verschlungenen \nWeidenzweigen, am runden Tisch wird \u00fcber\nStreuobstwiesen diskutiert: oh Expertise!\n\nDu kniest vor dem Gem\u00fcse und siehst\ndie Vitamine nicht, aber du wei\u00dft,\nder Schinken von morgen hei\u00dft Fisch.\n\nManchmal ist das Falsche richtig,\nGratisbier und Ersatzgedichte. Du hast\ndas Wort irdisch<\/em> noch nicht ausgekostet.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEs gibt keinen Ersatz f\u00fcr Gedichte.\n\n\nA wallpaper pattern with convoluted\nwillow branches, at the round table\nthey\u2019re discussing meadow orchards: oh expertise!\n\nYou kneel before the vegetables, not\nseeing the vitamins, but you do know\ntomorrow\u2019s ham is called fish. \n\nSometimes what\u2019s wrong is right,\nfree beer and substitute poetry. You still\nhaven\u2019t savored the word earthly<\/em>. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThere is no substitute for poetry. \t\t\n<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
Meine Mutter stieg ins Grab\nin einem Sch\u00fcrzenkleid, gest\u00e4rkt.\nDie Nabelschnur zog mich nach.\nAch, ach, ach, ich war erst acht.\n\nMeine Mutter liegt im Grab.\nDas Gras w\u00e4chst ganz verkehrt\nin die Erde. Es zieht mich nach.\nAch, ich bin noch immer acht.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMargarete Kreidl, 11. Juli 1939 \u2013 21. April 1972.\n\n\nMy mother climbed into her grave\nin an apron dress, a starched one.\nThe umbilical cord pulled me after her.\n.Oh, oh, oh, I was only eight. \n\nMy mother lies in her grave\nThe grass is growing upside down\ninto the soil. It\u2019s pulling me after it. \nOh, I am still only eight. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMargarete Kreidl, July 11, 1939 \u2013 April 21, 1972.\n<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
Papageienkoffer<\/strong><\/em>\nF\u00fcr Friederike Mayr\u00f6cker<\/em>\n\nZitat \u2013 Zikade: ein Zirpen, \nleichtes Zur\u00fcckzittern.\nIch habe ein Buch gelesen:\nUnd ich sch\u00fcttelte einen Liebling<\/em>\nMein einziger Augentrost\nMein s\u00fc\u00dfes Immergr\u00fcn\nMein leuchtendes Honigblatt\nIch werde nicht satt:\nMagische Bl\u00e4tter<\/em>\nIch lese ein Buch, ein Gedicht\nund meine Beine sprechen mit:\ndie goyarote Hose<\/em>\nKluftrosen, eine Frauenbluse,\noder ist es ein Schultertuch,\ngefaltet \u00fcber zwei Z\u00f6pfen getragen?\nIch habe ein Buch gelesen:\nReise durch die Nacht<\/em>\nIch tr\u00e4ume von einem goyaroten Faden.\nFadendrehung: purpurrote Nacht.\nFadendrehung: schwarze Naht, Baumwolle.\nBLAUER BERICHT \/ ERDICHTUNGEN<\/em>\nIch tr\u00e4ume ein Gedicht:\nein blaues, mit blauen Rauten gef\u00fclltes Zickzackband.\nFadendrehung, Zierschuss: Zitat:\nrot ist unten<\/em>\nIch mache den Papageienkoffer auf:\nLucas Georg Matthias Emil Thomas.\nIch habe den 1. Vornamen Goethes vergessen<\/em>\nIch habe ein Buch gelesen und jetzt \nist mein Herz gelb.<\/em>\n\n\nParrot Suitcase<\/em><\/strong>\nFor Friederike Mayr\u00f6cker<\/em>\n\nCitation\u2014cicada: a chirping,\t\t\t\na slight chaste chittering. \nI have read a book:\nAnd I shook a darling\t\t<\/em>\nMy only eyebright\nMy sweet evergreen\nMy luminous honeyleaf\nI can\u2019t get enough:\nMagical foliage<\/em>\nI\u2019m reading a book, a poem\nand my legs are talking too:t\nhe Goya-red trousers<\/em>\nrose diagrams, a women\u2019s blouse,\t\t\nor is it a shawl,\nfolded and worn over two pigtails? \nI have read a book:\nA Journey through the Night<\/em>\nI dream of a Goya-red thread.\nA twist of the thread: crimson-red night. \nA twist of the thread: black seam, cotton.\nBLUE REPORT \/ FABRICATED FICTIONS\t\t<\/em>\nI dream a poem: \t\t\t\t\t\na blue one, a rickrack full of blue rhombuses\t\nA twist of the thread, decorative weft, citing:\nred is below<\/em>\nI open the parrot suitcase:\nLucas George Matthew Emile Thomas\nI\u2019ve forgotten Goethe\u2019s first name\t\t <\/em>\nI have read a book and now\t\t\nmy heart is yellow. \t\t\t\t<\/em><\/pre>\n\n\n\n
\"Cover<\/figure>
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The translated poems originate from:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Margret Kreidl<\/strong>: Zitat, Zikade. Zu den S\u00e4tzen.<\/a> <\/em>Edition Korrespondenzen, Wien 2017<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Margret Kreidl<\/strong>: Mehr Frauen als Antworten. Gedichte mit Fu\u00dfnoten<\/a>,<\/em> Edition Korrespondenzen, Wien 2023<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Cover \u00a9 Edition Korrespondenzen<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Poems of Margret Kreidl in English, Translation: Geoffrey C. Howes<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":9,"featured_media":2012,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[572,571],"tags":[574,192],"thb-sponsors":[],"yoast_head":"\nPoems of Margret Kreidl in English - Poesiegalerie<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Poems of Margret Kreidl in English, Translation: Geoffrey C. 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