Naja Marie Aidt

From: Everything Glitters

As a boy I was always intrepid and cheerful    but I was not a boy     a butterfly is what I was     a mouse in a hole     a sled dog, howling at the moon     and the nights were . . .     they were . . .     black, deep     over there a cluster of houses in the middle of nowhere     and the mountains were     everywhere     like towers and spires in a kingdom    a page has been torn out of the book     something has vanished     like each day vanishes     and leaves behind perhaps a scratch, a shudder, something happy and yellow     a smell (vanilla, wet fur)     hands that lift you up and shake you     until you squeal     you can travel in old colonies     and see remains     ruins     you can imagine the exploitation     the desperate attempts to maintain something Danish     a tea service a little flag     a windmill on a hilltop     the Danish West Indies are now called the Virgin Islands     the street is called Håbets Gade     no one here knows the letter å     I’ve sat down in the shade to stare into the eyes of a gecko     to watch a lizard fighting with a scorpion     the lizard wins     if you walk through the jungle on St. John     a coconut may fall on your head     maybe you deserved it     and then a sugar plantation rises out of the green     you can see the slaves’ quarters     and close your eyes to make it all come alive     you can see the whip swinging over a child’s back     the dead-drunk planter committing a rape     but suddenly the path leads down to the beach where the sea turtles graze peacefully in the deep     the pelican flies low over the shoals of fish     and it’s like paradise, like the dream of the untouched, like the fragrant womb of a virgin     make no mistake     tornadoes rage here     rain that makes everything cave in     there are no voting rights here     just dead-drunks, begging the tourist for a dollar     an enervating boredom found only on islands:     we can sail out there     and out there     and home again     home again     we-can-have-a-beer     once upon a time there were three queens in this kingdom     (Mary, Mathilda, Agnes)     they led the masses in a revolt one raging night; torches burning     We must have light!     Mary’s voice thundering, hoarse     that was in eighteenseventyeight     the town went up in flames     people became charred corpses     I’ve sat down in the shade to look at the parrot (red)     at the sea (turquoise)     at a man cleaning an octopus in a basin (green)    hands lift you up and shake you     trembling islands     they were sent to Copenhagen     they were sent to prison     just picture it:     three black queens before the high court, early morning, drizzle    a particular kind of laugh (hoarse, melodic): Fuck you Danes!     but the king of the kingdom applauded them     they went to tea at the palace     they were given shiny medals     slavery had long since been abolished     yet it hadn’t been     I’ve sat down in the shade to listen to the children’s song     they’re singing about Mary     but I’m thinking about a poem that she wrote     Fan me, white missus / until the day breaks     the white woman moves the fan over the black woman’s body     a coolness sets in, a balance     just picture it     think of the name: Dutch Negro     a bad name for créole     parts of West Africa were matriarchies     it was from there the slaves came     all the plantations elected a leader     she had to be fearless     firewater also came to Greenland     you could earn a krone by taking beer to the old folks’ home     you could die in a snowdrift in clear weather     dead drunk, toothless     or: beautiful dead-drunk woman gives a blow job in the harbor shed for a bottle of booze     Qanga kingu?     a smell of sealskin, urine     that was a comforting smell, it was a good smell     when I was a boy     they were beautiful hymns, strangely gliding tones     the voices rose and fell     a particular kind of laugh     the dead-drunk rapes a sled dog in the twilight     Imerajuk     I once found crowberries under the snow     I once read about St. Croix     I couldn’t understand how it could be so hot     and palm trees?     that was back when I was a butterfly, mouse, girl, whore, shaman     thundering hoarse     everything rises and falls     the rain, the wind     love     rivers and glaciers overflow their banks

[Explanation of Greenlandic words:
Qanga kingu?                   When was the last time you got any?
Imerajuk                            Drunkard]

Translated by Tiina Nunnally

Danish