DITLEVSEN, Tove

Til mit døde Barn (To My Dead Child)

I never heard your little voice.

Your pale lips never smiled at me.

And the kick of your tiny feet

Is something I will never see.

We have been together many days,

all my sustenance I shared with you.

You and I can surely not be blamed,

for all our weakness, yours and mine.

Infant child, you now will never feel

the heady pulse of life for good or bad. –

’Tis for the best, sleep soundly darling boy,

for we must yield to those of greater strength.

See how I kiss your icy hand,

happy to be with you yet awhile,

silently I kiss you, weeping not, –

though the tears are burning in my throat.

When the men bring in the casket white,

you need not fear, for mother will come with you,

I will dress you in your tiny silken shirt

for the first time – and the very last.

I will make believe you lived some days,

I will pretend that you have smiled at me,

and your little mouth has suckled at my breast,

so not a single drop remains.

How heavy is the footfall of the casket-bearers,

to no avail my laden breast awaits you.

Infant child, my golden now dead dream. –

Your tiny feet I kiss – and weep.

There Lives a Young Girl

There lives a young girl in me who will not die,
she is no longer me, and I no longer her,
but she stares back when I look in the mirror,
searching for something she hopes to recover.

There is no one else in the world she can ask:
Where are the earnest smiles, the carefree dances?
Where are my dreams and the joy of twenty?
Tell me, have you made the most of my chances?

I try to catch that pale, shimmering gaze,
try to silence her questioning refrain,
and in the depths of my heart I hear a regret,
softly dripping like the sound of rain.

‘Your dreams were flimsy, child, and doomed to fail,
your innocence ruined by the truth you were told –
your budding hopes fell to the ground
the night reality invaded your soul.

‘You had a girl’s dream of a husband and baby,
and you got what you wanted but were still alone,
so you remained in childhood’s wondrous land,
while I am left roaming a world of stone.

‘It is by your sheer strength you have not died,
but live on somewhere as a faint likeness,
though I have sold your dreams for a roof and bread
and brought you pain I mistook for happiness.

‘And my only salvation is feeling your voice
as a surge in my heart’s languid beat –
you are my defence, my unrest and deepest comfort,
constant and true through time’s fickle retreat.’

There lives a young girl in me who cannot die
until I tire of believing I once was her.
She stares back when I look in the mirror,
searching for something she longs to recover.

When I Have Time

The woman upstairs
borrows a cup of flour
to strike up conversation.
She smells of whisky
she’s a widow
her son’s an addict.

Sure I say
while I worry.
He didn’t come
home last night
there’s someone else
I don’t know
whether we’ll split the bills
right away.

Her mouth
is open and wet.
The words fall
onto the floor
I stuff them
back in
without looking at them.

She’s unhappy
age takes its toll
it must be difficult
I say
and give her a gentle push
so the door will close.
Flour sprinkles
onto her faded
housecoat
a thread of blue silk
catches on her nail.

When I
have time
when things
fall into place
when I’ve had
a good night’s sleep
and donated to
Friends of the Elderly and
Save the Children
I’ll check in on
the woman upstairs

who no longer
needs flour
who no longer
makes gravy
and bakes white bread
who needs someone
who is happy
and has plenty of time.

Twinkling lights

In childhood’s long night, both dim and dark

there are small twinkling lights that burn bright

like traces memory’s left there as sparks

while the heart freezes so and takes flight.

It’s here that your pathless love shines clear,

once lost in nights misty and chill,

and all that you’ve since loved and suffered most dear

has boundaries set by the will.

The first-felt sorrow’s a frail, thin light

like a tear that quivers in space;

that sorrow alone your heart will hold tight

when all others time has effaced.

High as a star on a night as in spring

your childhood’s first happiness burns,

you sought for it later, only to cling

to late-summer shadow’s swift turns.

Your faith you took with you to great extremes,

the first and the last to your cost,

in the dark now somewhere it surely gleams,

and there is no more to be lost.

And someone or other draws near to you but

will never quite manage to know you,

for beneath those small lights your life has been put,

since when everyone must forego you.

Marriage

In re-remembered passion,

roused by a reminder of other embraces,

a distant contact with a cool skin,

the dreaming profile of an unknown woman

against the city’s neon lights –

or perhaps:

at the sight of a young soldier in the train

with bright eyes, in whose calm he saw

a quite simple mind reflect his own

and fling it back undigested,

with all its mysterious maturity –

his senses turn searchingly towards me,

veiled by a dark urge to deceive.

And I, who completely inhabit this house,

fertilise the dust with a frail thought

of own life, and daily kneel,

lost in vague prayers, at the yellow-enamelled

and silent fidelity of a bucket –

covertly consider his secret face,

suddenly naked, almost defenceless

as when nature reconquers deserted gardens:

just a glimpse of an irascible tenderness,

stunted, secretly extorted a legal

death of love for no obvious reason.

I see it go away, and recall other caresses

of nameless sweetness, possibly his once,

but never more arousing my desire

in other than the memory, never more.

Without words we deny, vindictively, alone,

each other’s capacity to rouse sensual desire.

Once

Once:

a room

a typewriter

a job

an alarm clock

a loneliness

a hope.

Now:

an apartment

a summerhouse

things

a husband

three children

status

friend

lover

housekeeper

neglected

graves

hairdresser

psychiatrist

money

complication

lack of

joy.

Good things come

to those who wait

my mother said

longing and

understanding

came to her

too late.

She died in

the nursing home

knowing

no one.

People misunderstand

each other for

the most part.

She had

beautiful hands.

Unnoticed

life slipped away.