Nora Bossong

Nora Bossong Poems

The stables down from the slope, they say
that a marten or a fox got the rabbit, no one
is sure, it's rare that anyone stays here
at night. The house too large
...

We live in a city without a river, there are
borders here made only of wind
or rainshowers. At night
...

And we went through my home town
almost silently, he said nothing, as though everything
had to remain unsaid, hot whisper
lingered on that summer day,
...

The game is called off. How can we
still believe in fairy tales? The branches
no longer shiver at night, no wild game
trundles through the woods and the thunderstorm
...

Dogs trotted through the streets, betimes
goats were conjured up, thrice
we looked for black cats, at least
...

I met two boys
under the arch of the bridge at night
who peed on the pillars and
said that they were seven
...

Nora Bossong Biography

Nora Bossong (born 9 January 1982 in Bremen) is a German writer. She was 2001 Fellow of the first Wolfenbüttel literature laboratory. She studied literature at the German Institute for Literature,[1] as well as cultural studies, philosophy and comparative literature at the Humboldt University of Berlin, the University of Potsdam, and the Sapienza University of Rome. Her poetry and prose have been published in individual newspapers, anthologies and literary journals. In 2006, she published her debut novel. Nora Bossong lives in Berlin.)

The Best Poem Of Nora Bossong

Motionless Hunt

The stables down from the slope, they say
that a marten or a fox got the rabbit, no one
is sure, it's rare that anyone stays here
at night. The house too large
for a house, the people too rich,
not of my time. But still we go
hunting together, through the overgrown
edges of the family estate, no animals
crack twigs in the undergrowth, no cadaver
leaves its smell like a spooky ancestor
on the boundaries of the grounds. I believe that the terrace
hides everything, no one
is following me, and why should they, my days
lie elsewhere. Only the white-tailed eagles on the poles
don't let me out of their sight, I feel
their sharp eyes staring at my nape,
until I stumble, but that is immaterial, just
a short-term alteration of the old edifice.

Translated by Donna Stonecipher

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