“Sea and Stone” by Elske Kampen, trans. from the West Frisian by David McKay

Sea and Stone

Come into my room and see, I am not there.
My cardigan, still body-warm, is draped over the chair.

I have lent myself to someone in a T-shirt, someone with
a boy’s sharp teeth. How he pulls off his shirt, with
his eyes closed or open, I want to know. How sweet his tongue
tastes, how hard his teeth bite, I want to find out, and
I want to savor what his mouth says.

To one who’s fallen and lies flat I lend myself, to one who’s
waiting. I need an apron on I am the mom, a place to run
an apron place is what I offer. But I’m also the woman
who paints in her closed house, in fervent search of light by
day but in soft conversation by night with an angel at the window.

I have lent myself to a man who must read and read to
ward off his fear, but he’d rather dream of his
leather getaway shoes. To a child afloat in warm
froth I have lent myself, and to someone in restless
hiding from monsoons.

I am not there, I lend myself out, and there’s nothing I can say.
Late in the evening I am a shadow scrabbling through the farmyards
and whatever I can use I steal and drag behind me.
There is no one who sees me. A thief, a parasite, I am,
with my hands full, with both hands full.

Come into my room and see, I am not there.
My cardigan, still body-warm, is draped over the chair.
Between sea and stone am I, and there I search.



See en Stien

Rin myn keamer yn en sjoch, ik bin der net.
Oer de stoel leit lichemswaarm noch myn wollen fest.

Utliend haw ik my oan immen yn in himd, oan ien mei
skerpe jongestosken. Hoe’t hy syn himd útdocht mei
eagen ticht of iepen wol ik witte. Hoe swiet syn tonge
smakket, hoe fûl syn tosken bite wol ik fernimme en
priuwe wol ik wat syn mûle seit.

Oan ien dy’t fallen is en leit lien ik my út, oan ien dy’t
wachtet. In skelk moat foar ik bin de mem, in skûlplak
skelkplak moat ik biede. Mar ek de frou dy’t skilderet
yn har sletten hûs bin ik, oerdei fûleindich sykjend om
ljocht mar nachts sêft yn petear mei in ingel by it rút.

Ik haw my útliend oan in man dy’t altyd lêze moat om
sa de eangst te kearen, mar leaver dreamt er fan syn
learen útnaaiskuon. Oan in bern dat driuwt yn waarm
skom haw ik my útliend en oan ien dy’t ûngeduerich
foar de moesson skûlet.

Ik bin der net, ik lien my út en neat kin ik dêr oer sizze.
Let yn ‘e jûn bin ik in skaad dat skarrelt oer de hiemen
en alles wat ik brûke kin dat stel ik en dat sleep ik mei.
Nimmen is der dy’t my sjocht. In dief, in parasyt bin ik
mei hannen fol, mei beide hannen fol.

Rin myn keamer yn en sjoch, dêr bin ik net.
Oer de stoel leit lichemswaarm noch myn wollen fest.
Tusken see en stien bin ik en sykje dêr.

Elske Kampen

Elske Kampen, who has published six poetry collections and won numerous awards, writes in the Frisian and Dutch languages, often combining her poetry with her visual art and seeking to evoke images that precede meaning and purpose.

 

• Author Website

David McKay (he/they)

David McKay is a prize-winning translator of fiction, non-fiction, plays, and poetry, best known for his English translations of the novels of Stefan Hertmans and Anjet Daanje.

Translator Note:

Elske Kampen once described her poetry as a way of turning “the chaos of images into a harmonious whole.” Her poems glimmer with assonance, alliteration, repeated rhythms, and internal rhyme. Although Kampen sometimes writes in Dutch, she has called that work “more stylized” and tends to prefer her regional language of West Frisian. The rich palette of Frisian vowels lends itself to the intricate sound patterns of her work. In her hands, Frisian becomes a language of intimacy, interiority, domesticity, eroticism, childhood memory, the everyday, the physical—an “unfixed house,” to quote the title of one of her recent collections.