when i saw you the first time, he came
to the table, had a drink, held my hand
brushed your shoulder, now i would like

to give nothing more for that blue
the eye borrows. for days a window has been
open, the darkness of another room

how it becomes for me the room of your voice
how i wished you lay there
alone, i would lie too, would hold hands

in hands, books for reading
but this is our goodbye, something
like blackbirds calling from trees is gone.

Aimee Chor is a poet and translator who lives in Seattle with her family. She lived and studied in Germany for several years and holds degrees in religious studies from Carleton College and The University of Chicago.

 

als ich dich zum ersten mal sah, kam er
an den tisch, trank mit, hielt meine hand
streifte deine schulter, jetzt möchte ich

um jene bläue nichts mehr geben, die sich
das auge leiht. seit tagen steht ein fenster
offen, das dunkel eines anderen zimmers

wie es mir zimmer deiner stimme wird
wie ich mir wünschte, du lägest dort
allein, ich läge mit, hielte hände

in den händen, bücher, die zu lesen sind
aber das ist unser abschied, da ist etwas
amseliges, das aus bäumen ruft, vorbei.

Nadja Küchenmeister,  Im Glasberg. Gedichte. © Schöffling & Co. Verlagsbuchhandlung GmbH, Frankfurt am Main 2020

Nadja Küchenmeister, born in Berlin in 1981, has published three books of poetry: All the Lights (2010), Under the Juniper (2014), and In the Glass Mountain (2020). She has received many awards, most recently the Basel Poetry Prize (2022).


Read Nadja Küchenmeister interviewed by Aimee Chor.