SUE RYDER FROM THE SQUARE
Sue Ryder – she encountered misfortune early on, when along with her mother she visited hospitals and the gravely ill.
Greetings to you, Sue Ryder from the square, on which no window of mine looks out. Greetings to you, because I don’t want to go back to my place today. You’re in the snow, and I’m in a strange kitchen, my dear Sue Ryder, in the Wild West.
Not long till high noon now, so I’m meeting you, we’re meeting, Sue Ryder, I’ll bring the cigarettes. Now I’m scraping paint from the windowsill with my nail, then I do it the other way round – do you like manicures?
I like them though I shouldn’t, since it’s possible to do so many serious things, and here there’s the bishop’s violet in a brushstroke across the nail bed and you have to watch out for, fear the consequences. There awaits us, my dear, a silent cloud in the earth
- the square behind the bus stop needs work. Dear Sue Ryder, and even then you can’t be sure, since the toilets by it will stay triangular – someone might find that ugly photo of you on google.
Greetings to you, Sue Rider, masterless cow-girl. Already we’re away from everywhere – the address books of mothers, our own beds, at the ends of the nerves of enemies from many nights, of brothers from just one.
Already we’re away from everywhere, so don’t look round, my sad Sue Ryder,
you’re nowhere to be found.
Translated by David Malcolm