Helena Boberg, trans. Johannes Göransson
from Sense Violence
One
incredible
eyelid
flutters
Living poppy
hidden
in the eye's darkness
: Self barely
perceptible or
flower-like
That mouth
which closed against the light
speaks sometimes, despairs sometimes
In your room
I cannot
control myself
The little fetus
that quivers
demands
or just exists
like a tongue
Hungers
for your tongue
as for
salted butter
We dreamed together
about the state before childhood
when we could not yet talk
The gaze turned
toward drowsy memories
Girls
their hair swims in the wind
Observe like an animal
of wild voices
Trying
again to push
into the dream
Every conversation
an invasion
The neighbor woman
with this night's cigarette
She looks
straight at me
Her eyes
The withdrawn
gaze
Exposed like
a captured animal
The
too-soft hair
that will not
grow
a Botticelli angel
Alone
like
a silk stocking
in the dawn-
weeping
Touches on the memory of a bird
with spread-out feathers
Rounded
like rose petals
At the root
pale red
I didn't want to destroy
I eat from
her body
so that I will
never grow
Her face
moves
in mine
: lacks purpose or reason
Cool my cheek
the sadness is
too great
to wear around
As a word
she no longer
exists
outside me
Ett
oerhört
ögonlock
fladdrar till
Levande vallmo
gömd
i ögats mörker
: Själv knappt
urskiljbar eller
blomlik
Den där munnen
som slutit sig för ljuset
talar ibland, förtvivlar ibland
I ditt rum
kan jag inte
behärska mig
Det lilla foster
som rister
kräver
eller bara finns till
som en tunga
Hungrar
efter din tunga
som efter
salt smör
Vi drömde tillsammans
om tillståndet före barndomen
då vi ännu inte kunde tala
Blicken vänd
mot dåsiga minnen
Flickorna
deras hår simmar i blåsten
Betraktar likt ett djur
av vilda röster
Försöker
tränga åter
in i drömmen
Varje samtal
en invasion
Grannkvinnan
med nattens cigarett
Hon ser
rakt på mig
Hennes ögon
Den tillbakadragna
blicken
Utsatt som
ett nyfångat djur
Det
alltför mjuka håret
som inte vill
växa
En Botticelliängel
Ensam
som
en silkesstrumpa
i grynings-
gråten
Snuddar vid ett minne av en fågel
med utspärrade fjädrar
Rundade
som rosenblad
Vid roten
blekt röda
Jag ville inte förstöra
Jag äter av
hennes kropp
för att själv
aldrig växa
Hennes ansikte
rör sig
i mitt
: saknar mål eller begrepp
Svalka min kind
sorgen är
för stor
att iklä sig
Som ord
finns hon
inte längre
utanför mig
Helena Boberg (b. 1974) lives and works in Stockholm, Sweden. Her books include Repuls (Repulsion, 2011) and Sinnesvåld (Sense Violence, 2013). A sometime member of the Surrealist Group of Stockholm, Boberg draws on psychoanalytic, surreal, and feminist discourses in her poetry. She also participates in the feminist-literary project Poetry and Equality in Sweden and the Middle East, which over the past three years have involved women writers from Sweden, Palestine, Iran, and Iraq in workshops to facilitate translating and networking among female poets, based on sharing experiences with literary practices and living conditions. An excerpt from Sense Violence was published as a chapbook by Garden-Door Press in the U.S. in 2017, and the whole collection is forthcoming from Black Ocean.