Today’s choice
Previous poems
Sigune Schnabel tr. Simon Lèbe
Mother
She cut letters out of me,
which quietly and unnoticed
danced red poems.
In the autumn wind, they fell at her feet
and rustled decay.
Since then, my name wears holes.
I counted myself off on five fingers
and planted my remains in the flowerbed.
Sometimes, she sprinkles water into it,
while from her mouth the snow quietly trickles:
frozen and laid under ice,
I linger,
rootless;
all the while, she only wanted
to breathe growth into me.
Sigune Schnabel (b. 1981) studied literary translation in Düsseldorf, Germany. Her poetry, featured in anthologies and journals, has earned awards in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland. Between 2017 and 2023, she published four poetry collections.
Translator Simon Lèbe was born in London in 1961 and spent a large part of his childhood in France and Switzerland. He completed a degree in Fine Art in London in the early 1980s. Self-taught, he has worked professionally in various fields of translation.
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