Poetry by Caroline Minor
Tre Digte - Three Poems
21.5.2026
Honig und Beeren
Was bleibt, wenn du gehst?
spørger klistermærket på
kollektivets toilet mig
hver gang jeg sidder der
og hver gang føler jeg mig
kaldet til at svare –
men hvad? Der Geruch
har nogen tilføjet
med kuglepen
nedenunder, altså
ryggen? Nej rygtet
selvfølgelig, gætter
jeg, beslutter jeg,
mener jeg at vide
da din veninde over
et glas pastis den sidste aften
leder mig nænsomt som gennem
marskland gennem Bachmanns
Thema und Variation
og henkastet retter
min misforståelse,
hvilket med perfekt
forsinkelse
udløser den
latrinære
punchline
stanken!
midt i
digtets
sommerskovsdunkle
højhed.
Honig und Beeren
Was bleibt, wenn du gehst?
the sticker on the door of the commune’s
toilet asks me every time
I’m sitting there,
and every time I feel
called upon to answer –
but answer what? Der Geruch
someone has added
in blue pen
underneath, that means I guess
The back? No, it must be
The reputation I venture,
then decide and still
believe to be the case
when your friend
over a glass of pastis on the last night of my visit
guides me carefully as through
marshlands through Bachmann’s
Thema und Variation
and casually corrects
my misunderstanding,
which, with a perfectly
timed
delay
releases
the lavatory
punchline
The stench!
right there
in the middle of the poem’s
dim summer-forest
loftiness.
Caroline Albertine Minor - Three Poems
Parabellum
Bemærk hvordan min
stadig større nydelse
ved din ligegyldighed
når den går
igennem mig
uskyldig og
perfekt som
en
patron,
elegant gør
ydmygelsen
til et mål
i sig selv.
Parabellum
Observe how my
still greater pleasure
in your indifference,
when it
penetrates me
guiltless and
perfect as
a
bullet,
elegantly turns
humiliation
into an
end in itself.
Caroline Albertine Minor - Tre Digte
Sen samtale
I din lighed
med vand er du
her til aften
rigelig og blank,
langsom, og jeg
tager for mig af
retterne, det vil sige
lyden af din stemme
i mit øre, som jeg
presser mod telefonen
indtil de begge
telefon, øre
koger:
Du læser Seneca
og fortæller mig
en passant
at der på latin
findes ét ord
for blodet når
det bløder og
et andet når
det løber artigt
i årerne, men
hvem ved om
det er
katastrofen eller
tilsynekomsten alene
der giver anledning
til forvandlingen
i sproget?
Natten igennem
leder jeg åbenbart
efter en passende analogi og
vågner med det
ene bud
på tungen at
cruor og sanguis
må forholde sig til blod
omtrent som
stemme og tanke
forholder sig til sprog,
hvilket ikke
overraskende,
men alligevel
sidestillersåret og munden
(og arret og skriften?).
Alt dette kun
fordi jeg længtes
efter at høre ´
rødt varmt
nyt fra dig.
Late conversation
In your likeness
to water
tonight
you are
amble and glossy,
slowmoving, and I
help myself to the sound of your voice
in my ear, which I
press against the phone
until both
ear, phone
boil:
You are reading
Seneca and tell me
in passing
that Latin
has one word
for blood when
it bleeds and
another for when
it runs
well-behaved
in the arteries, but
who is to say whether
it is calamity or
simply appearance
that gives cause
for this bifurcating
precision?
Through the night
I search for
a fitting analogy and
wake with the one
suggestion
in mind that
cruor and sanguis
relate to blood
more or less like
voice and thought
relate to language,
which is not
surprising but still
likens
wound to mouth
(and scars to writing?)
All this just
because I longed
to hear some
warm red news
from you.
Caroline Albertine Minor, born in Copenhagen in 1988, is a Danish author and translator of literary fiction. She studied creative writing and Anthropology at Copenhagen University and published her first novel Pura vida in 2013. Her second book, Blessings came out four years later in 2017. It was awarded the P.O. Enquist prize and has been translated into Italian, German, Deutch, Norwegian, Swedish and will be out in English later this year. In 2020 she published her second novel, The Lobster's Shell, which is also available in English, German, French, Spanish, Dutch, Norwegian and Swedish. Her latest work is a book of poems, Nivå Bugt Strandenge from 2024. In june 2026 she will publish Den forelskede ven - a kaleidoscopic retelling of a ten year long amical, erotic and intellectual relationship between an artist and her muse, which has at the outset of the novel abruptly ended.
© Paula Duvå