Swedish Poetry 1
11 A heap of glowing intestines, unfurled like he
fty flowers, lay on a wrinkled paper on the wax cloth. The run-off blood collects in the folds on this former bread bag, and smells like old copper coins. Grandmother cleans the meat. With a big pair of scissors she cuts away all the gristle and tendons, anything that can cause problems when the meat is chewed. Her face with the nonexistent eyelashes – I imagine that she has transparent eyelids like a cat – seems by the end to be in a trance. The dog waits with the tongue pulled in. She eats lard. Åsa Nelvin, from Gattet (The Narrows), 1981 Translated by Johannes Göransson SWEDISH POETRY 34