Tove Ditlevsen - 'Ægteskab'

Marriage

In re-remembered passion,

roused by a reminder of other embraces,

a distant contact with a cool skin,

the dreaming profile of an unknown woman

against the city’s neon lights –

or perhaps:

at the sight of a young soldier in the train

with bright eyes, in whose calm he saw

a quite simple mind reflect his own

and fling it back undigested,

with all its mysterious maturity –

his senses turn searchingly towards me,

veiled by a dark urge to deceive.

And I, who completely inhabit this house,

fertilise the dust with a frail thought

of own life, and daily kneel,

lost in vague prayers, at the yellow-enamelled

and silent fidelity of a bucket –

covertly consider his secret face,

suddenly naked, almost defenceless

as when nature reconquers deserted gardens:

just a glimpse of an irascible tenderness,

stunted, secretly extorted a legal

death of love for no obvious reason.

I see it go away, and recall other caresses

of nameless sweetness, possibly his once,

but never more arousing my desire

in other than the memory, never more.

Without words we deny, vindictively, alone,

each other’s capacity to rouse sensual desire.