Love Gog, for he is good
Auntie had a great big pot, and in it she kept air
by turns with soup and potatoes for the pigs. She also had
hens for eggs and chicken soup. Her husband kept pigeons, whose
necks he sometimes wrung to grill them – granny plucked, she had
the knack, many a quilt in the village was her handiwork
– on the barbecue. He’d say: “Cos I didn’t need them.”
Both of them had booming voices and the same fluffy down
on their faces. When auntie fell flat on her back
amid the geese and ducks and her feet stopped kicking,
they quickly buried her, and a second auntie appeared.
She has golden teeth, moving her lips she smelts them into golden
words. If not for the fact that they’re nice words, and she has
a kindly face, you might think she knows where it’s taking
us, from where there is no news. Or maybe that is why.
Translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones (with thanks to Karolina Iwaszkiewicz)