{"id":3219,"date":"2022-10-19T22:44:05","date_gmt":"2022-10-19T22:44:05","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/megaga.dk\/?p=3219"},"modified":"2022-10-22T11:59:24","modified_gmt":"2022-10-22T11:59:24","slug":"prose-poems-prosadigte","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/megaga.dk\/?p=3219","title":{"rendered":"prose poems\/prosadigte"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

Conversing with a well of moonlight The God of Lesser Winds mentioned his mother and how she fell asleep inside a beetle, a warm one, she said, one of those that roll stars across childrens eye balls. After that she wore only leaves and whispers.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

I en samtale med en br\u00f8nd af m\u00e5nelys n\u00e6vnte Guden af Mindre Vinde sin mor, og hvordan hun faldt i s\u00f8vn inde i en bille, en varm \u00e9n, sagde hun, en af dem der ruller stjerner henover b\u00f8rns \u00f8je\u00e6bler. Efter det kl\u00e6dte hun sig kun blade og hviskerier.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

We put a door in the dog to look at the gleaming but narrow paths winding their way towards the ever-white gardens where snow is born. We were blinded but saw, we were deafened but heard, we were numbed but felt the ants carry us away.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

Vi s\u00e6tter en d\u00f8r i hunden for at betragte de skinnende men sv\u00e6re stier, der snor sig afsted mod de altid-hvide haver, hvor sne f\u00f8des. Vi blev blindede, men s\u00e5, vi d\u00f8vedes, men h\u00f8rte, vi blev f\u00f8lelsesl\u00f8se, men kunne m\u00e6rke myrerne b\u00e6re os v\u00e6k.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

For as little as a shadow I bought an afternoon\u2019s rain. Back home I put it inside an apple thinking it\u2019d be alright, but no, it would only stare silently into the blank pages of an imaginary Atlas, roadless, sealess, desertless.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

For s\u00e5 lidt som en skygge k\u00f8bte jeg en eftermiddags regn. Hjemme igen puttede jeg den ind i et \u00e6ble, idet jeg troede, at den ville have det godt. Men nej, den stirrede stille p\u00e5 de blanke sider i et imagin\u00e6rt atlas, vejl\u00f8st, havl\u00f8st, \u00f8rkenl\u00f8st.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

For reasons unknown she would see herself as a bird. Some said it was the acorn in her head that did it, others pointed to her feathery father, most agreed it was because her mother had given her half a sparrow\u2019s egg as a cradle.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

Af ukendte \u00e5rsager s\u00e5 hun sig selv som en fugl. Nogle sagde, det var agernet i hendes hoved, andre pegede p\u00e5 hendes fjeragtige far, de fleste var enige om, at det var fordi, hendes mor havde givet hende et halvt spurve\u00e6g som vugge.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

You have a place, but most days it\u2019s gone. That\u2019s why you sit watching semi-transparent objects come in and out of sight while you knead clouds into walking sticks and tables. On the wall the clock has run out of time.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

Du har et sted, men de fleste dage er det v\u00e6k. Det er derfor, du sidder og ser halvt gennemsigtige objekter komme til syne og forsvinde igen, mens du \u00e6lter skyer til stokke og borde. P\u00e5 v\u00e6ggen er uret l\u00f8bet t\u00f8r for tid.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

When he wasn\u2019t a door stopper he mutilated imaginary fluffy animals verbally to keep himself from drowning in the swamp of the bourgeoisie where he was planted as a human (neglected) seedling. A typical couch rebel, they said. Others said: Who?<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

N\u00e5r han ikke var en d\u00f8rstopper, mishandlede han verbalt imagin\u00e6re pelsede dyr for ikke at drukne i den sump af sm\u00e5borgerligheden, han var plantet i som en menneskelig (overset) fr\u00f8plante. En typisk sofarebel, sagde nogen. Andre spurgte: Hvem?<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Conversing with a well of moonlight The God of Lesser Winds mentioned his mother and how she fell asleep inside a beetle, a warm one, she said, one of those that roll stars across childrens eye balls. After that she wore only leaves and whispers. . I en samtale med en br\u00f8nd af m\u00e5nelys n\u00e6vnte […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[75,50,119,66,55],"tags":[52,51,67,57,195,56,196],"class_list":["post-3219","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-digt","category-poem","category-prosadigt","category-prose","category-prose-poem","tag-digt","tag-poem","tag-prosa","tag-prosadigt","tag-prose","tag-prose-poem","tag-surrrelism"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/megaga.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3219","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/megaga.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/megaga.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/megaga.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/megaga.dk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3219"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/megaga.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3219\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3224,"href":"https:\/\/megaga.dk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3219\/revisions\/3224"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/megaga.dk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3219"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/megaga.dk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3219"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/megaga.dk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3219"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}