Naja Marie Aidt - When Death Takes Something from You Give It Back

WHEN DEATH TAKES SOMETHING FROM YOU GIVE IT BACK

Carls Book

WHEN DEATH TAKES SOMETHING FROM YOU GIVE IT BACK

Carls Book

NAJA MARIE AIDT

Translated by Denise Newman

Minneapolis
2019

First u.s. edition published 2019

Copyright 2017 by Naja Marie Aidt

Translation 2019 by Denise Newman

Cover art and design Oliver Munday

Book design by Rachel Holscher

First published in Danish as Har dden taget noget fra dig s giv det tilbage: Carls bog (Gyldendal 2017)

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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Names: Aidt, Naja Marie, 1963 author. | Newman, Denise J., translator.

Title: When death takes something from you give it back : Carls book / Naja Marie Aidt ; translated by Denise Newman.

Other titles: Har dden taget noget fra dig s giv det tilbage. English

Description: First U.S. edition. | Minneapolis : Coffee House Press, 2019. | First published in Danish as Har dden taget noget fra dig s giv det tilbage: Carls bog (Gyldendal 2017).

Identifiers: LCCN 2018058460 (print) | LCCN 2018060464 (ebook) | ISBN 9781566895682 (ebook) | ISBN 9781566895606 (trade paper)

Subjects: LCSH: Aidt, Naja Marie, 1963Poetry. | BereavementPoetry. | Danish poetry21st centuryTranslations into English.

Classification: LCC PT8176.1.I37 (ebook) | LCC PT8176.1.I37 H3713 2019 (print) | DDC 839.813/74dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018058460

PERMISSIONS

Excerpts from Nox by Anne Carson, 2010, are reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp.

Excerpts from Quelque chose noir by Jacques Roubaud, 1986 by ditions Gallimard, are reprinted by permission.

Excerpts from Redemption Song by Bob Marley, published by Fifty Six Hope Road Music Limited/Primary Wave/Blue Mountain Music, are reprinted by kind permission.

Excerpts from A Grief Observed by C. S. Lewis, 1961 by C. S. Lewis, are reprinted with permission.

Excerpts from Time Lived, Without Its Flow by Denise Riley, published by Capsule Press in London, 2012 by Denise Riley, are reprinted by kind permission of the author.

PRINTED IN CANADA

26 25 24 23 22 21 20 191 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

For Martin and Eigil and our children

And higher, the stars. The new stars of the land of grief.

Slowly the Lament names them:Look, there:

the Rider, the Staff, and the larger constellation

Called Garland of Fruit. Then, farther up toward the Pole:

Cradle; Path; The Burning Book; Puppet; Window.

But there, in the southern sky, pure as the lines

on the palm of a blessed hand, the clear sparkling M

that stands for Mothers

RAINER MARIA RILKE, FROM THE TENTH ELEGY

WHEN DEATH TAKES SOMETHING FROM YOU GIVE IT BACK

Carls Book

I raise my glass to my eldest son. His pregnant wife and their daughter are sleeping above us. Outside, the March night is cold and clear. To life! I say as the glasses clink with a delicate and pleasing sound. My mother says something to the dog. Then the phone rings. We dont answer it.

Who could be calling so late on a Saturday evening?

*

He had his green jacket on. I know because I saw it myself. He walked in the green forest, and beside him walked a tiger. He walked in the green forest, and he looked up at the leaves. I see that the light shimmers in his hair, which is the same color as the tigers pelt. He walks alone. He doesnt understand why hes alone. But he has his tiger. He had his tiger. He lays his hand on its strong back, and I see that hes untroubled. Now the road turns, he disappears around the bend, the path leads him deeper and deeper into the green forest. He was untroubled. He didnt know why he was alone. Beside him walked a tiger.

*

Once, I was pregnant and I dreamed that the child inside me was a baby tiger. Playful, soft, and cuddly with light brown eyes and a golden pelt.

Thats how you looked when you were born.

*

You were delivered by c-section, and I got sick after the birth. I had the most excruciating migraine, and the staff in the maternity ward thought I was hysterical. I cried and complained. I could hardly contain myself. I could hardly take care of you. I fainted as I was rolling you down the hall in the see-through plastic bassinet. Thats when they called in a nurse who was also a healer. I felt it when she sent a gush of warm energy toward me. Thats what it felt like. But it didnt help. Finally they sent me down to a physiologist. He said air bubbles had entered into my spinal cord because the epidural was not put in right. He turned me upside down and manipulated my limbs and back. They cracked and popped. I felt like an animal in a slaughterhouse. I was simply bones and meat. The headache went away and they sent me home. This was at the National Hospital in Copenhagen. It was freezing out and I was afraid you wouldnt be able to stand the cold. At home, you and your father fell asleep. I sat alone in the tiny kitchen. It was evening, dark. I got dressed and went out for cigarettes. Im a human being, I thought. Now Im myself again, alone in my body. Standing in the corner store I thought about how the cashier couldnt tell that Id just had a child. It was my secret and it delighted me. You were my secret. I was twenty-five years old. I smiled at the cashier and went home through the snow-lit streets.

A secret:

Born November 21, 1989, at 2:32 p.m.

You weighed 7.2 pounds and were 20 inches long.

You were ravenous right after your birth.

A little friend

*

I wrote in my journal:

Monday, May 1, 1989a sunny dayI found out that in the winter I will give birth to another child. Little winters child, its so strange that you exist. I still cant feel you; my body still cant understand that you exist.

So excited to see him

Outside, the March night is cold and clear

*

A night full of terror

A night so full of terror

A night so full of terror, so full of terror, so full of terror, so full of terror, so

I cannot form a sentence

My language is all dried up

*

I raise my glass to my eldest son. His pregnant wife and their daughter are sleeping above us. The girl is exactly three years old. Outside, the March night is cold and clear. Weve been together all day. Weve been walking in the forest and playing with the little one. She said many wonderful things, and had lots of fun. Weve talked about everything imaginable, and now were sitting at the round table in my mothers living room. To life! I say as the glasses clink. Weve eaten, and now were drinking wine, were talking about my next-eldest son: How he didnt get into the Danish Film School, although he made it to the final interview. That was a big accomplishment. How he seems to be getting over the disappointment, and will apply again next year. How hes still enjoying his work as a chef. How he spends most of his free time editing films. How we miss him. I say: I miss him. Too bad he couldnt be with us tonight. But I cant wait to see him tomorrow, I say. The dog barks. I talk about my youngest son. We laugh at something. My mother tells the dog to be quiet. The phone rings. We dont answer it. Who could be calling so late on a Saturday evening?