You are lying in the dizzyingly high grass. You remember it as an aurora borealis, an insignificant, brief happiness. Or: you are thirsty and dream about melting glaciers, chipped cisterns, reservoirs without boundary, nights on your back on irrigated fields. Or: you have fallen in love with the world and sit in a library with the first edition of the Belgian astronomer Quételet’s catalogue of 10,792 stars, a register of all the world’s totem animals, a book on mushrooms that grow only under our duvets at night, a natural history of the glove. Or: You are here. Right now.
World Cut Out with Crooked Scissors: Carsten René Nielsen, Translated by David Keplinger
HOUSE INSPECTIONS (BOA, 2011) at Amazon here
WORLD CUT OUT WITH CROOKED SCISSORS (New Issues, 2007) at amazon here
“And what’s the trouble here?” ask those of the police officers who walk on the house roofs or with both of their arms stretched out to the sides, balanced precariously on the cornices. “And what’s the trouble here?” ask those of the police officers down on the street, who, squatting in front of the doors, peer through the letter flaps. “And what’s the trouble here?” is shouted in through grated gates with only a faint echo as repartee. “And what’s the trouble here?” ask police officers, who are encountering police officers, who themselves, somewhat despairing, ask the same question: “What is the trouble here?” Even at night, while the running lights of an airplane inch across the sky, the questions can be heard as a hardly audible mumbling in the darkness between houses: “What ... is ... here?”
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