:: Article

Eight Poems

By Aase Berg.

In the Guinea Pig Cave

There lay the guinea pigs. There lay the guinea pigs and they waited with blood around their mouths like my sister. There lay the guinea pigs and they smelled bad in the cave. There lay my sister and she swelled and ached and throbbed. There lay the guinea pigs and they ached all over and their legs stuck straight up like beetles and they looked depraved and were blue under their eyes as from months of debauchery. My sister puked calmly and indifferently: it ran slowly out of her slack mouth without her moving a single nerve. And the cave was warm as teats and full of autumn leaves and beneath the soil lay the arm of a mannequin. There lay the guinea pigs and ached and were made of dough. There lay the guinea pigs beside the knives that would slice them up like loaves. And my sister with lips of blueberries, soil and mush. In the distance, the siren bleated inhumanly. That is where the guinea pigs lay and waited with blood around their mouths and contorted bodies. They waited. And I was tired in my whole stomach from meat dough and guinea pig loaf and I knew that they would revenge on me.

from Hos rådjur (With Deer)


Glass Deer

A glass deer here
branches break, thigh bones
Autumn leaves gather around the body here
an ice creek courses close

Red foxes smell shadow,
shadow untouched the glass deer here
An ice creek licks bones,
autumn leaves gather cold at the site

A thigh flute breaks and bursts

from Mörk Materia (Dark Matter)


Umbilical String

In the middlecirclehole
hard sucks the hare track
in the inwardcircle whirl
of the strung

Clear cold rushes cable
Mute voice runs strung
Strain strame rushes fat
in the maelstrom sore



Shells sieved through
the sounding board of
the breastplate



As the ocean tears
rubs claws
against surfaces of
the closed

as waves ride
singing and



Whale-dead, brain-dead,
cavity flushed,

from Forsla Fett (Transfer Fat)



Heartbeaten Peacebeaten
in the fontanel
Saltcrow snotcrow,
shitty bigfootess,
the laughmap’s wild strawberry patch



Nudefart, nudesmack!
clothograph mealy time

from Uppland

Translations by Johannes Göransson.


Aase Berg, born 1967 in Stockholm, is a poet and literary critic. She lives in the countryside of north Sweden. She has published five collections of poetry, several in a thematic combination of science fiction and motherhood biography. In English, she has published one book of collected poems, Remainland (Action Books) and her first collection, With Deer (Black Ocean Books), both translated by Johannes Göransson. Aase Berg has also released a collection of essays and a poetry novel for young people. Her next book, which will be published in 2011, deals with the indifference of nature, and includes a chorus of chicken that comments about Swedish society in a confused political way.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Sunday, December 26th, 2010.