What do you think?
Rate this book
Da wohnt ein junges Mädchen in mir, das nicht sterben will
Eine der kreativsten Stimmen des 20. Jahrhunderts von einer ganz neuen Seite.
Tove Ditlevsen gilt inzwischen weltweit als außergewöhnliche Prosaschriftstellerin. In ihrer Heimat Dänemark aber wurde sie von Anfang an auch als Dichterin gefeiert. Ihre erste Gedichtsammlung veröffentlichte sie in ihren frühen Zwanzigern und schrieb bis an ihr Lebensende verspielte, schwermütige, witzige In den Körpern Erwachsener stehen kleine Mädchen auf Zehenspitzen, literarische Errungenschaften und persönliche Niederlagen werden unbeirrt offenbart, und Liebhaber kommen und gehen wie die Jahreszeiten. In schnörkelloser Sprache und originellen Bildern greift sie alle Lebensthemen auf und macht daraus Poesie.
Erstmals auf Gedichte aus vier Jahrzehnten.
168 pages, Kindle Edition
First published December 14, 2017
About the author
Tove Ditlevsen
109 books1,241 followersTove Ditlevsen var en dansk forfatter, som hentede inspiration i sit eget liv som kvinde. I sin digtning og som yndet brevkasseredaktør i Familie Journalen udfoldede hun en dyb psykologisk indsigt i moderne kvinders splittede liv. Hendes evne til at udtrykke sammensatte følelser i et enkelt og smukt sprog fik betydning for flere generationer af læsere.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 323 reviews
Want to Read
January 10, 2026real ass title
February 18, 2026
This was my first introduction to Tove Ditlevsen and now, I'll be reading ALL she ever published. Her poetry (even when short), had a way of transforming me to my childhood self, peering into motherhood, gazing into a mirror at her representations of depression and anxiety and truly, revealed what it is like to be a woman in this world. Absolutely adored, now need to go book shopping for more...
January 6, 2025
Originally written between 1939-1973 and translated from Danish, this collection of poems by famed author Tove Ditlevsen reminds me that though times and places may change, so much of what we feel and love stays the same. These poems could have been written last year and I would have believed it. Ditlevsen taps into the hopefulness of youth, the anguish of growing old(er), and the ruins of love in a way that hit close to home more than once.
I imagine translating poetry to be a challenging task (how to keep the meaning while not losing the style?), and so I commend the translators for doing an amazing job here. I felt so much of what Ditlevsen tried to convey.
I received an advanced copy through Netgalley in return for an honest review.
I imagine translating poetry to be a challenging task (how to keep the meaning while not losing the style?), and so I commend the translators for doing an amazing job here. I felt so much of what Ditlevsen tried to convey.
I received an advanced copy through Netgalley in return for an honest review.
March 3, 2026
Sinds Tove Ditlevsens beklijvende Kopenhagen-trilogie had ik nog niets anders van haar vertaalde werk gelezen. Dat er nu ook poëzie van haar verscheen, vond ik een goede reden om dat opnieuw te doen. Het werd een beetje een tweeslachtige leeservaring, die uiteindelijk toch positief uitviel.
Een niet chronologische, uitgebreide bloemlezing als deze was volgens mij in elk geval de juiste keuze. Want misschien meer dan een poëtische reis wordt hier een sfeer, een vrouwenleven, misschien zelfs een Deense vorm van fado en saudade geschetst.
De tweeslachtigheid zit voornamelijk in de stijl van de gedichten. Zoals in het voorwoord al aangehaald gebruikte Tove Ditlevsen gedurende een bepaalde periode fragmenten uit volkse smartlappen en schreef ze gedichten op rijm die niet altijd even sterk uit de verf kwamen.
Maar zoals gezegd werd haar hele poëzie-oeuvre door elkaar gehusseld en dat is weldoordacht gedaan, waardoor je altijd wel opnieuw op een pareltje of een reeks overtuigende, ontroerende of dieper gravende gedichten stuit. En die zijn er genoeg, met uiteenlopende onderwerpen. Mijn favoriete gedicht werd 'Zondag', omdat ze zo juist beschrijft wat voor gevoel zondagen al sinds mijn kinderjaren in mij oproepen. Maar net zo goed vond ik 'Schaamluizen' geweldig.
De titel van de bloemlezing dekt perfect de inhoudelijke lading. Rode draad is de verloren kindertijd, het kwijtspelen van de sterke emoties en indrukken die ze als kind, puber en jongvolwassene beleefd heeft en waar ze vaak hartstochtelijk naar terugverlangt nu ze in de wereld van de volwassenen gevangen zit. Dat heeft iets tragisch en iets nostalgisch, maar die termen zijn te beladen voor deze poëzie. Opnieuw kom ik uit bij de melancholie van fado en saudade.
Dat laatste is deels ook te wijten aan een tweede thematiek, nl. die van de stad en de armere, rauwere buurten waar Ditlevsen opgroeide. Op die manier sloot de bloemlezing dan weer aan bij haar Kopenhagen-trilogie, met angsten, twijfels, kritiek op verwachtingspatronen en mannen, en vooral dat sterk en weerbarstig innerlijk oog als voornaamste drijfveren voor haar ars poëtica. 3,5*
Een niet chronologische, uitgebreide bloemlezing als deze was volgens mij in elk geval de juiste keuze. Want misschien meer dan een poëtische reis wordt hier een sfeer, een vrouwenleven, misschien zelfs een Deense vorm van fado en saudade geschetst.
De tweeslachtigheid zit voornamelijk in de stijl van de gedichten. Zoals in het voorwoord al aangehaald gebruikte Tove Ditlevsen gedurende een bepaalde periode fragmenten uit volkse smartlappen en schreef ze gedichten op rijm die niet altijd even sterk uit de verf kwamen.
Maar zoals gezegd werd haar hele poëzie-oeuvre door elkaar gehusseld en dat is weldoordacht gedaan, waardoor je altijd wel opnieuw op een pareltje of een reeks overtuigende, ontroerende of dieper gravende gedichten stuit. En die zijn er genoeg, met uiteenlopende onderwerpen. Mijn favoriete gedicht werd 'Zondag', omdat ze zo juist beschrijft wat voor gevoel zondagen al sinds mijn kinderjaren in mij oproepen. Maar net zo goed vond ik 'Schaamluizen' geweldig.
De titel van de bloemlezing dekt perfect de inhoudelijke lading. Rode draad is de verloren kindertijd, het kwijtspelen van de sterke emoties en indrukken die ze als kind, puber en jongvolwassene beleefd heeft en waar ze vaak hartstochtelijk naar terugverlangt nu ze in de wereld van de volwassenen gevangen zit. Dat heeft iets tragisch en iets nostalgisch, maar die termen zijn te beladen voor deze poëzie. Opnieuw kom ik uit bij de melancholie van fado en saudade.
Dat laatste is deels ook te wijten aan een tweede thematiek, nl. die van de stad en de armere, rauwere buurten waar Ditlevsen opgroeide. Op die manier sloot de bloemlezing dan weer aan bij haar Kopenhagen-trilogie, met angsten, twijfels, kritiek op verwachtingspatronen en mannen, en vooral dat sterk en weerbarstig innerlijk oog als voornaamste drijfveren voor haar ars poëtica. 3,5*
September 25, 2026
Skaityti Tovės Ditlevsen eilėraščius buvo lyg skaityti Sylvią Plath, perrašytą Virginijos Kulvinskaitės. Gal net ir supratau, kodėl ji visų pirma poetė, o tik po to - tokia nuostabi autofikcinė prozininkė. Vis dėlto labai džiaugiausi, kad pirma skaičiau Kopenhagos trilogiją ir dar prisiminiau raktinius įvykius ar įvaizdžius, gyvenimo etapus; tie eilėraščiai neatsirado visai tuščioje vietoje. Atskirai džiaugiausi rinktine, išdėstyta chronologiškai iš visų Ditlevsen išleistų rinkinių ir vieno pomirtinio, kai sulig kiekvienu vis mažiau nejaukumo, vis daugiau noro šokti į akis, sakyti "o ką jūs man" ir sykiu ieškoti žodžių kažkokiam nuolatiniam gyvenimiškam nejaukumui ir ilgesiui. Svajonė: kad "Baziliskas" išverstų kurią nors Ditlevsen rinktinę, o gal ir šią, kad būtų galima ją patirti bent per vienos, o ne per dviejų kalbų slenkstį.
Iš eilėraščių atrodo, kad vaikystė jai visam gyvenimui liko ne kaip ideali, bet kaip kartais romantizuota, o dažniau tiesiog bent jau aiški patirtis:
The Schoolchildren
They stumble along like scattered troops
every morning, come rain or shine,
milk-moustached and shaking off sleep,
perpetually small and never on time.
You recognize them by their serious eyes,
by the fog of dreams lifting from their heads,
always in a hurry, they don't notice you:
you're a faraway season they don't yet dread.
They agonize over a stain in a book,
they're tormented by a math's exercise,
and they expect far too much happiness
from becoming childhoodless and wise.
Watching them you remember how lonely
you felt in a never-ending dawn,
while every blossom slept on its branch
and the grown-ups' curtains were still drawn.
Your narrow bed, the lightbulb's dull glow,
your bedroom rancid with need;
always too small, too late out the door,
full of sadness you'll never concede.
(p. 46)
Ir ta mergaitė iš pavadinimo, gyvenanti joje, anaiptol nėra nei žaisminga, nei svajinga, veikiau toks senos sielos, suaugęs vaikas, nieko gero nesitikintis iš jokios ateities:
Sunday
[...]
The church bells ring. The children's nostrils
fill with an inherited, hopeless smell.
Across their sweet faces slides
a temporary ugliness.
The gleam in their eyes
beings to wither.
But we all look forward to Sunday,
the whole week, our whole life
we look forward to hundreds
of long, pointless, eviscerating Sundays.
The family day, the boarding house day,
the secret lover's hell.
The day the adults' sickening greyness
seeps into their children and instils
the bewildering sadness
of every Sunday to come.
(p. 58)
Atrodo, kad daugiausia ir pasižymėjau jos tekstų apie vaikystę, jie atrodė baugūs ir liūdni, projektuojantys visą savo ligtolinį gyvenimą į tą nepažinų vaiką, tuo pat metu kupini ir atjautos jam, ir distancijos. Skaitydama galvojau, kad tie veidai iš jos romano (Veidai) poezijoje beveik visi priklauso vaikams, užsikloja vienas ant kito, atkartoja, ataidi vienas kitą ir ne gausina supratimo ar kontakto, o, priešingai, mažina, jį atitolina. Paskui ir ji pati eilėraštyje beveik tą patį ir parašė. Va pora tokių:
Childhood
The picture of a child floated past them,
sat upright in his frame, smiling sweetly;
moving carefully the way he always knew,
wearily knew they expected him to.
Once again it worked. Look, their voiced quieted.
The room grew peaceful. Imperious hands lowered.
Everything became clear: their naive affection,
all their sharp, demanding simplicity.
Never disturb them. Never leave your frame.
Much was easy, but some things were never learned.
Worst were the joys they handed him, made for someone else,
made for a well-defined child, unadult and adored.
Worst was thanking them through the smiling mask.
Worst were their greedy eyes that wanted
whatever distant, dangerous thoughts
were sneaking through his unknowable mind.
The picture of a child stayed with them.
A fearful child never left his frame.
Happiness was merely a guest in his heart.
The deep grooves of anxiety lead back home.
(p. 61)
Self Portrait 4
On my childhood street
lives an old woman
who remembers me
as a little girl.
I was unruly
she says
the whole building shook
when I bounded down
the stairs from the fourth floor.
This picture of me
inserts itself
and distorts
like when
a photograph is taken
on top of another.
I fear the place
I hold in other people's
memory. They remind me
of things I have forgotten.
They stole
my face
before it was
worn out
and wear it often
on top of their own.
I don't remember
the old woman
from my childhood
the grown-ups were all the same
and ageless.
She knows something
about me she won't divulge
a secret I've never told.
It fills her up
and keeps death at bay
she tells lies and intends
to outlive me.
I never took the stairs in bounds
I was a quiet child.
I hate her.
(p. 106-107)
Ditlevsen eilėraščių vaikystė primena Helle Helle vaikystę iš They, kur lyg ta mergaitė jau paauglė, lyg ne, tu nelabai supranti nei jos, nei jos aplinkos, tik matai paskirus įspūdžius, kurių ir taip kažkodėl per daug. Helle Helle prisiminiau skaitydama "Lietaus" pradžią:
Rain
It always rained
on Istedgade.
The lamplight
spread
like big sunflowers
in the falling darkness.
Down at the train station
the whores came out
looking like rich ladies
with umbrellas
and high heels.
You'd imagined them
differently
and were disappointed.
The stink from the
slaughterhouse
wasn't as bad
as during the day.
Drunk men
aren't dangerous
your friend said
child molesters
are always sober.
[...]
(p. 85)
Ir galiausiai jos apskritasis kambarys, be kampų ir nelygių atstumų, kur visos formos yra stabilios, patikimos, atitinkančios kontūrus. Po "Veidų" jis labai prašosi būti skaitomas ligos kontekste, ir vis dėlto čia, eilėraštyje, tas ramus buvimas atrodo pasiekiamas ranka ir beveik išsipildęs, įmanomas, apie ką romanas neleido nė pagalvoti:
The Round Room
Stretched to the breaking point
by uncontrollable consequences
trapped in the unsurmountable
like an unwanted pregnancy,
I can't help but wonder whether all this
was really necessary?
Couldn't one have made do
with very little;
the detail of a detail
hardly anything at all
something like a coffee tin
with a lid that fits
and slips soundlessly into place
in this world of
poorly made objects?
All wholes
are too overwhelming
a whole person is
too much to take
improbable, unbearable.
All screws and bolts
are loose or missing
and the spare parts
were used up in childhood.
Angry mechanics who dropped out
before their apprenticeship was over
skulk about, convinced
the desire to pare myself down
targets them.
Things rattle and clink
and fall apart -
children flew out of me
like rubbish down a chute
fat and overflowing I gave up on
locating the fault
and the plumbers
arrived too late.
Tiredness runs through my veins
I, soon used up, in whose house
little strangers accumulate
in carelessly pushed-together beds
repeatedly replaced with
new ones without footboards
so they can grow unimpeded
in their sleep.
With immense effort
I break the water
of my undesired life.
A loud splash
fills the world.
We're downsizing I tell
the nosy neighbour
and retreat
to a perfectly round room
bringing only the necessities:
a coffee tin whose lid fits
and slips into place
without a sound
to my endless delight
in the unbroken silence
I have craved all my life.
(p. 138-140)
Beveik stiklo gaubtas, ir gal ne veltui - galbūt ta mergaitė nemirė nei su Plath, nei su Ditlevsen, turbūt nemirs ji ir su mumis. Paradoksalu, bet pilni nerimo ir neišsipildžiusių lūkesčių, nepatogių formų, netelpantys į kontūrus Ditlevsen eilėraščiai man tapo savotišku "comfort read", ne atstūmė, o įsileido, pasijutau pabuvusi ir daniškame lietuje, ir ne-hygge gyvenime - net truputį nesmagu, kad tik kaip muziejaus lankytoja, vėliau grįšianti į savo įprastesnių formų gyvenimą. Kažką tarsi likau skolinga ar Ditlevsen, ar tai nenorinčiai numirti mergaitei iš jos širdies.
Iš eilėraščių atrodo, kad vaikystė jai visam gyvenimui liko ne kaip ideali, bet kaip kartais romantizuota, o dažniau tiesiog bent jau aiški patirtis:
The Schoolchildren
They stumble along like scattered troops
every morning, come rain or shine,
milk-moustached and shaking off sleep,
perpetually small and never on time.
You recognize them by their serious eyes,
by the fog of dreams lifting from their heads,
always in a hurry, they don't notice you:
you're a faraway season they don't yet dread.
They agonize over a stain in a book,
they're tormented by a math's exercise,
and they expect far too much happiness
from becoming childhoodless and wise.
Watching them you remember how lonely
you felt in a never-ending dawn,
while every blossom slept on its branch
and the grown-ups' curtains were still drawn.
Your narrow bed, the lightbulb's dull glow,
your bedroom rancid with need;
always too small, too late out the door,
full of sadness you'll never concede.
(p. 46)
Ir ta mergaitė iš pavadinimo, gyvenanti joje, anaiptol nėra nei žaisminga, nei svajinga, veikiau toks senos sielos, suaugęs vaikas, nieko gero nesitikintis iš jokios ateities:
Sunday
[...]
The church bells ring. The children's nostrils
fill with an inherited, hopeless smell.
Across their sweet faces slides
a temporary ugliness.
The gleam in their eyes
beings to wither.
But we all look forward to Sunday,
the whole week, our whole life
we look forward to hundreds
of long, pointless, eviscerating Sundays.
The family day, the boarding house day,
the secret lover's hell.
The day the adults' sickening greyness
seeps into their children and instils
the bewildering sadness
of every Sunday to come.
(p. 58)
Atrodo, kad daugiausia ir pasižymėjau jos tekstų apie vaikystę, jie atrodė baugūs ir liūdni, projektuojantys visą savo ligtolinį gyvenimą į tą nepažinų vaiką, tuo pat metu kupini ir atjautos jam, ir distancijos. Skaitydama galvojau, kad tie veidai iš jos romano (Veidai) poezijoje beveik visi priklauso vaikams, užsikloja vienas ant kito, atkartoja, ataidi vienas kitą ir ne gausina supratimo ar kontakto, o, priešingai, mažina, jį atitolina. Paskui ir ji pati eilėraštyje beveik tą patį ir parašė. Va pora tokių:
Childhood
The picture of a child floated past them,
sat upright in his frame, smiling sweetly;
moving carefully the way he always knew,
wearily knew they expected him to.
Once again it worked. Look, their voiced quieted.
The room grew peaceful. Imperious hands lowered.
Everything became clear: their naive affection,
all their sharp, demanding simplicity.
Never disturb them. Never leave your frame.
Much was easy, but some things were never learned.
Worst were the joys they handed him, made for someone else,
made for a well-defined child, unadult and adored.
Worst was thanking them through the smiling mask.
Worst were their greedy eyes that wanted
whatever distant, dangerous thoughts
were sneaking through his unknowable mind.
The picture of a child stayed with them.
A fearful child never left his frame.
Happiness was merely a guest in his heart.
The deep grooves of anxiety lead back home.
(p. 61)
Self Portrait 4
On my childhood street
lives an old woman
who remembers me
as a little girl.
I was unruly
she says
the whole building shook
when I bounded down
the stairs from the fourth floor.
This picture of me
inserts itself
and distorts
like when
a photograph is taken
on top of another.
I fear the place
I hold in other people's
memory. They remind me
of things I have forgotten.
They stole
my face
before it was
worn out
and wear it often
on top of their own.
I don't remember
the old woman
from my childhood
the grown-ups were all the same
and ageless.
She knows something
about me she won't divulge
a secret I've never told.
It fills her up
and keeps death at bay
she tells lies and intends
to outlive me.
I never took the stairs in bounds
I was a quiet child.
I hate her.
(p. 106-107)
Ditlevsen eilėraščių vaikystė primena Helle Helle vaikystę iš They, kur lyg ta mergaitė jau paauglė, lyg ne, tu nelabai supranti nei jos, nei jos aplinkos, tik matai paskirus įspūdžius, kurių ir taip kažkodėl per daug. Helle Helle prisiminiau skaitydama "Lietaus" pradžią:
Rain
It always rained
on Istedgade.
The lamplight
spread
like big sunflowers
in the falling darkness.
Down at the train station
the whores came out
looking like rich ladies
with umbrellas
and high heels.
You'd imagined them
differently
and were disappointed.
The stink from the
slaughterhouse
wasn't as bad
as during the day.
Drunk men
aren't dangerous
your friend said
child molesters
are always sober.
[...]
(p. 85)
Ir galiausiai jos apskritasis kambarys, be kampų ir nelygių atstumų, kur visos formos yra stabilios, patikimos, atitinkančios kontūrus. Po "Veidų" jis labai prašosi būti skaitomas ligos kontekste, ir vis dėlto čia, eilėraštyje, tas ramus buvimas atrodo pasiekiamas ranka ir beveik išsipildęs, įmanomas, apie ką romanas neleido nė pagalvoti:
The Round Room
Stretched to the breaking point
by uncontrollable consequences
trapped in the unsurmountable
like an unwanted pregnancy,
I can't help but wonder whether all this
was really necessary?
Couldn't one have made do
with very little;
the detail of a detail
hardly anything at all
something like a coffee tin
with a lid that fits
and slips soundlessly into place
in this world of
poorly made objects?
All wholes
are too overwhelming
a whole person is
too much to take
improbable, unbearable.
All screws and bolts
are loose or missing
and the spare parts
were used up in childhood.
Angry mechanics who dropped out
before their apprenticeship was over
skulk about, convinced
the desire to pare myself down
targets them.
Things rattle and clink
and fall apart -
children flew out of me
like rubbish down a chute
fat and overflowing I gave up on
locating the fault
and the plumbers
arrived too late.
Tiredness runs through my veins
I, soon used up, in whose house
little strangers accumulate
in carelessly pushed-together beds
repeatedly replaced with
new ones without footboards
so they can grow unimpeded
in their sleep.
With immense effort
I break the water
of my undesired life.
A loud splash
fills the world.
We're downsizing I tell
the nosy neighbour
and retreat
to a perfectly round room
bringing only the necessities:
a coffee tin whose lid fits
and slips into place
without a sound
to my endless delight
in the unbroken silence
I have craved all my life.
(p. 138-140)
Beveik stiklo gaubtas, ir gal ne veltui - galbūt ta mergaitė nemirė nei su Plath, nei su Ditlevsen, turbūt nemirs ji ir su mumis. Paradoksalu, bet pilni nerimo ir neišsipildžiusių lūkesčių, nepatogių formų, netelpantys į kontūrus Ditlevsen eilėraščiai man tapo savotišku "comfort read", ne atstūmė, o įsileido, pasijutau pabuvusi ir daniškame lietuje, ir ne-hygge gyvenime - net truputį nesmagu, kad tik kaip muziejaus lankytoja, vėliau grįšianti į savo įprastesnių formų gyvenimą. Kažką tarsi likau skolinga ar Ditlevsen, ar tai nenorinčiai numirti mergaitei iš jos širdies.
March 26, 2026
Ich bin absolut begeistert von diesem Gedichtband! Tove Ditlevsen ist meine Lieblingsautorin und ich liebe es, ihre Werke zu lesen. Die Gedichte sind tiefgründig und berührend, und es ist faszinierend zu sehen, wie sie mit Sprache umgeht. Ihre Worte haben eine tiefe Wirkung auf mich hinterlassen und mich sehr nachdenklich gemacht.
Ich habe auch ihre Kopenhagen-Trilogie gelesen und es ist interessant zu sehen, wie ihre Lebenserfahrungen in ihre Lyrik einfließen. Es gibt viele Parallelen zwischen ihren Gedichten und ihrer Biografie, und man hat alles dadurch noch einmal mehr verstanden und gesehen, wie sie ihr Leben halt auch in zum Beispiel Gedichten verarbeitet.
Ich hab mir schon wirklich lange Zeit drauf gefreut, dieses Buch zu lesen und bin froh, dass es jetzt dann auch auf Deutsch war.
Ich habe auch ihre Kopenhagen-Trilogie gelesen und es ist interessant zu sehen, wie ihre Lebenserfahrungen in ihre Lyrik einfließen. Es gibt viele Parallelen zwischen ihren Gedichten und ihrer Biografie, und man hat alles dadurch noch einmal mehr verstanden und gesehen, wie sie ihr Leben halt auch in zum Beispiel Gedichten verarbeitet.
Ich hab mir schon wirklich lange Zeit drauf gefreut, dieses Buch zu lesen und bin froh, dass es jetzt dann auch auf Deutsch war.
August 8, 2025
Sealey Challenge 2025: 8/31
I was genuinely surprised by how much I enjoyed this collection. While I was already aware of Tove Ditlevsen’s critical acclaim, I had primarily thought of her as an author rather than a poet. This collection, however, proved just how multifaceted and talented she truly was.
Spanning the entirety of her career, the collection is thoughtfully arranged, allowing readers to trace the evolution of her voice and style over time. Even her earliest poems are striking in their emotional depth and clarity. Ditlevsen explores themes such as complex family relationships, motherhood, love, divorce, and the many forms of survival inherent to womanhood. Her reflections feel both personal and universal, often achingly honest yet never self-indulgent.
What especially impressed me was her ability to balance the deeply melancholic aspects of her work with moments of dry, wry humor that landed perfectly. It gave the collection a layered tone that felt deeply human.
Reading this has not only given me a newfound appreciation for Ditlevsen as a poet, but also made me eager to explore more of her work. I now feel as though I’ve righted a personal literary oversight, and I’m all the better for it!
I was genuinely surprised by how much I enjoyed this collection. While I was already aware of Tove Ditlevsen’s critical acclaim, I had primarily thought of her as an author rather than a poet. This collection, however, proved just how multifaceted and talented she truly was.
Spanning the entirety of her career, the collection is thoughtfully arranged, allowing readers to trace the evolution of her voice and style over time. Even her earliest poems are striking in their emotional depth and clarity. Ditlevsen explores themes such as complex family relationships, motherhood, love, divorce, and the many forms of survival inherent to womanhood. Her reflections feel both personal and universal, often achingly honest yet never self-indulgent.
What especially impressed me was her ability to balance the deeply melancholic aspects of her work with moments of dry, wry humor that landed perfectly. It gave the collection a layered tone that felt deeply human.
Reading this has not only given me a newfound appreciation for Ditlevsen as a poet, but also made me eager to explore more of her work. I now feel as though I’ve righted a personal literary oversight, and I’m all the better for it!
March 24, 2026
Tove Ditlevsen streelt je met haar woorden en geeft niet aan dat alles goed komt maar wel dat alles komt en is en gaat
June 7, 2020
Jeg er så glad for, at Tove Ditlevsen har fået en renæssance. Ellers havde jeg højst sandsynligt aldrig fået læst hendes digte og opdaget, hvor smukt og sørgmodigt og humoristisk og hårdslående hun skriver på én og samme tid.
January 17, 2018
For mig kunne (og kan) Tove noget særligt, fordi hun ikke var bange for at tage afsæt i det banale, det kedelige, som andre lyrikere måske følte sig for fine til, og hun gør det i et sprog, som selv arbejderen eller sågar pigen i 6. klasse kan forstå. I forlængelse heraf skriver Olga Ravn i efterordet at:
“Det er disse digte, der skrives frem i en form, der ikke søger det originale udtryk, som ikke vil make it new. Hvad vil de så? De vil reaktualisere det af traditionen bortkastede, de poetiske brokker på møddingen. Hvorfor vil de det? Fordi det at bruge et ikketidssvarende sprog både er en arbejderdigters fuck you til de fine høj-modernister og samtidig er en måde at genoplive det bortkastede sprog.”
Og udvalget af digte understreger netop, at Tove Ditlevsen ikke blot forstod at skrive sig ud af lyriktraditioner rent stil- og sprogmæssigt, men også på det indholdsmæssige plan, hvor hun giver plads til at dyrke melankolien* og det uskønne i at købe en liter mælk eller få et forkølelsessår*. Hun nægtede at indtage rollen som den tilfredse husmor, som gik op i madlavning, blomsteropsatser og forældremøder*, og det kommer til udtryk i hendes digte til stor glæde for alle andre, som ikke kan genkende sig selv i den typisk tilgængelige kvinderolle.
Læs mere her: https://bookmeupscotty.blogspot.dk/20...
“Det er disse digte, der skrives frem i en form, der ikke søger det originale udtryk, som ikke vil make it new. Hvad vil de så? De vil reaktualisere det af traditionen bortkastede, de poetiske brokker på møddingen. Hvorfor vil de det? Fordi det at bruge et ikketidssvarende sprog både er en arbejderdigters fuck you til de fine høj-modernister og samtidig er en måde at genoplive det bortkastede sprog.”
Og udvalget af digte understreger netop, at Tove Ditlevsen ikke blot forstod at skrive sig ud af lyriktraditioner rent stil- og sprogmæssigt, men også på det indholdsmæssige plan, hvor hun giver plads til at dyrke melankolien* og det uskønne i at købe en liter mælk eller få et forkølelsessår*. Hun nægtede at indtage rollen som den tilfredse husmor, som gik op i madlavning, blomsteropsatser og forældremøder*, og det kommer til udtryk i hendes digte til stor glæde for alle andre, som ikke kan genkende sig selv i den typisk tilgængelige kvinderolle.
Læs mere her: https://bookmeupscotty.blogspot.dk/20...
November 17, 2025
i am both surprised and not by how greatly i have enjoyed this collection! Ditlevsen seems to have been an adult who clearly remembered what being a child felt like. her poetry is touching, heartbreaking, and very, very special.
May 5, 2026
Melacholic poems that reminds a little bit of the poems of sylvia plath, but less suicidal
May 29, 2026
Wat houd ik toch ontzettend van het kleine heelal dat Ditlevsen met haar oeuvre heeft geschapen en waar Lammie Post-Oostenbrink ons toegang toe heeft verschaft.
September 27, 2024
A couple of years ago, I read and loved Tove Ditlevsen autobiographical
Copenhagen Trilogy
, so when I was offered an advance copy of this collected volume of selected poetry, translated into English for the first time, I jumped at the opportunity. Even if I hadn't been familiar with Ditlevsen's name, the singularly evocative title would've been enough to catch my eye!
As someone who is trilingual, translation fascinates me, particularly in the case of poetry—how do you stay true to the meaning while maintaining the original rhythm and style, not to mention a rhyme? It's a real art, a balancing act on a razor's edge, but since I don't speak Danish to compare, it's impossible to say how well the translators lived up to this challenging task; I can only attest that having read Ditlevsen's (translated) autobiographies, the voice in these selected poems rang true to me.
Written throughout her entire adult life, dated from 1939 to 1973, each of these poems is disarmingly confessional, and a large part of them still resonated with my own modern female experience: The hopefulness of childhood, anguish of lost youth, agonies of growing old(er), devastation of ruined love, a rather conflicted, negative view of motherhood, dark humour, and a certain fascination with death. I believe that a familiarity with Ditlevsen's biography adds important context to these bleak, intense, nihilist poems, and the introduction does a fairly good job at giving an overview of her tumultuous life, explaining the pervasive sense of dissatisfaction and oppressive sadness that blankets the collection.
I recommend this to anyone interested in mid-century poetry by a woman from a working-class background, stifled by the confinements of her gender, and would suggest reading each dated section in tandem with Ditlevsen's autiobiographies to get the full impact of her words.
—————
Note: I received an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.
As someone who is trilingual, translation fascinates me, particularly in the case of poetry—how do you stay true to the meaning while maintaining the original rhythm and style, not to mention a rhyme? It's a real art, a balancing act on a razor's edge, but since I don't speak Danish to compare, it's impossible to say how well the translators lived up to this challenging task; I can only attest that having read Ditlevsen's (translated) autobiographies, the voice in these selected poems rang true to me.
Written throughout her entire adult life, dated from 1939 to 1973, each of these poems is disarmingly confessional, and a large part of them still resonated with my own modern female experience: The hopefulness of childhood, anguish of lost youth, agonies of growing old(er), devastation of ruined love, a rather conflicted, negative view of motherhood, dark humour, and a certain fascination with death. I believe that a familiarity with Ditlevsen's biography adds important context to these bleak, intense, nihilist poems, and the introduction does a fairly good job at giving an overview of her tumultuous life, explaining the pervasive sense of dissatisfaction and oppressive sadness that blankets the collection.
I recommend this to anyone interested in mid-century poetry by a woman from a working-class background, stifled by the confinements of her gender, and would suggest reading each dated section in tandem with Ditlevsen's autiobiographies to get the full impact of her words.
—————
Note: I received an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.
March 1, 2025
I want to die in ashen moonlight
awhirl with a thousand snowflakes,
they will flutter through my hands and hair
and wrap me in an icy shroud.
A huge credit to translator to keep the essence and style of Tove Ditlevsen, ensuring the spirit of the poem isn't lost in the process. A lovely collection about growing up and still being in touch with girlhood and the dreams that spun from that time. As the poet grows older and the poems morph from girlish anxiety to existential dread, the underlying emotion that makes up the poet clings to nostalgia of the past. From first love, to anguish to heartache to yearning and resulting in scorn - as it is so in many relationships, her poems explores these ideas as experiences and ties to her existence as woman in a patriarchal society.
One of the criticisms on Tove's poetry was that it was restrictive in its old-fashioned rhyming scheme when postmodernism and free verses were all in vogue. Its the 50s when poetry dramatically changed, tonally and structurally, Tove continued with the style she had pursued all her life and continued to reaffirm the same battles that were waged on women for decades if not centuries, while her contemporaries were challenging poetic forms and reading experience. Yet the poems she pens are raw and directly speaks to the readers in a grounded honesty.
A great collection that grow over pages, as Tove Ditlevsen evolves from a girl to a woman.
Thank you to Netgalley and Farrar, Straus and Giroux for providing me with a free copy of this e-book in exchange for an honest review.
October 3, 2026
Beautiful stuff. Couldn't recommend this collection more if you want to try poetry out or just explore more of Ditlevsen's works.
February 17, 2026
Tove je moje oblíbená spisovatelka, jako první ale psala poezii. Kdyz jsem teda videla tuhle knihu v knihkupectvi v Berlíně, musela jsem koupit, i kdyz normalne poezii tolik nečtu. Nezklamala, bylo to lidské a autentické. Navíc tim, ze uz znam její život z dalsich knih, jsem se na to dokázala mnohem více napojit.
March 2, 2025
really enjoyed the simplicity of these poems, very interior and addressing ditlevsen’s childhood self, tumultuous relationships, and her own children. i liked seeing how her writing style evolved throughout the years. a woman’s mind, the secret window, and the adults were my favorite sections. also loved olga ravn’s foreword and the translators’ note. made me want to reread the copenhagen trilogy!
thank you to fsg and netgalley for the e-arc - publishes march 11th!
thank you to fsg and netgalley for the e-arc - publishes march 11th!
April 1, 2021
Det er svært at rate digte. Jo flere jeg læste, jo mere følte jeg, at jeg forstod Tove Ditlevsen, hvilket jeg aldrig har prøvet før. Der er boget sårbart og åbent i dem, der imponerede mig
March 3, 2026
Met deze bundel wil je ontbijten en in slaap vallen.
August 3, 2026
Zitten echt pareltjes tussen. Hou zo van Tove en haar manier van in de wereld zijn. Gedichten uit haar hele schrijvende leven (zo’n 40 jaar) dus je merkt veel veranderingen qua stijl. Het gedicht over op je tenen lopen, ja zeggen, zelfportret 1, pak mijn hart dan en alleen voor jou zijn het allermooist en liefst.
May 5, 2025
excited to get more into her works :))) i love how she wrote about girlhood and anxiety particularly.
May 18, 2026
Ik kocht dit boek vanwege de titel en daar heb ik geen spijt van.
January 25, 2026
Zo zo zo zo zo zo zo mooi
“Het was vast niet noodzakelijk om met hem te trouwen om vooruit te komen in de wereld, maar niemand had me ooit verteld dat een meisje iets op eigen kracht kon bereiken.”
“Sterven is de zin verliezen / om dingen te slopen / waar een ander van houdt.”
“Liegen is verrukkelijk - met grote blauwe ogen fabuleren over zaken waar je niets van weet.”
“Ik vrees voor / de plek die ik / inneem in andermans hoofd. / ze wijzen me op dingen / die ik zelf vergeten ben.”
“En je weet / dat grote kinderen vaker de / waarheid spreken dan grote mensen.”
“Ik leerde als kind de kunst van het loslaten.”
“Het was vast niet noodzakelijk om met hem te trouwen om vooruit te komen in de wereld, maar niemand had me ooit verteld dat een meisje iets op eigen kracht kon bereiken.”
“Sterven is de zin verliezen / om dingen te slopen / waar een ander van houdt.”
“Liegen is verrukkelijk - met grote blauwe ogen fabuleren over zaken waar je niets van weet.”
“Ik vrees voor / de plek die ik / inneem in andermans hoofd. / ze wijzen me op dingen / die ik zelf vergeten ben.”
“En je weet / dat grote kinderen vaker de / waarheid spreken dan grote mensen.”
“Ik leerde als kind de kunst van het loslaten.”
October 10, 2025
Ik snap nu waarom - als we de Kopenhagen-trilogie mogen geloven - iedereen die Tove kende en haar poëzie las volledig in vervoering van haar raakte.
Vooral ‘The Schoolchildren’ vond ik erg lief; hier een stukje daaruit:
They stumble along like scattered troops
every morning, come rain or shine,
milk-moustached and shaking off sleep,
perpetually small and never on time.
En ‘Self Portrait 1’:
I cannot:
cook
pull of a hat
entertain company
wear jewellery
arrange flowers
remember appointments
send thank-you cards
leave the right tip
hold onto a man
feign interest
at parent-teacher meetings
(…)
I can:
be alone
do the dishes
read books
make sentences
listen
and be happy
without feeling guilty.
Tot slot, passend genoeg, ‘Afterthought’:
When a woman writes
little devils swarm
her most productive years
as well as men whom she only manages
to love badly and from a distance
Vooral ‘The Schoolchildren’ vond ik erg lief; hier een stukje daaruit:
They stumble along like scattered troops
every morning, come rain or shine,
milk-moustached and shaking off sleep,
perpetually small and never on time.
En ‘Self Portrait 1’:
I cannot:
cook
pull of a hat
entertain company
wear jewellery
arrange flowers
remember appointments
send thank-you cards
leave the right tip
hold onto a man
feign interest
at parent-teacher meetings
(…)
I can:
be alone
do the dishes
read books
make sentences
listen
and be happy
without feeling guilty.
Tot slot, passend genoeg, ‘Afterthought’:
When a woman writes
little devils swarm
her most productive years
as well as men whom she only manages
to love badly and from a distance
March 12, 2018
Normalt er jeg ikke den store digtlæser, men denne fine indbundne blå udgave af Tove Ditlevsens digte fangede mine øjne og derfor måtte jeg eje den. Jeg nød egentlig at læse digtene, fordi Ditlevsen skriver i et sprog der er til at forstå, modsat mange andre digtere i den danske litteraturhistorie. Mange fine digte om livets små og store spørgsmål, samt hvem vi som menneske er.
June 4, 2025
I think I will read this book over and over and over and over and over and over
April 20, 2026
Schrijven kan ze! Dat wist ik al, maar dichten dus ook!
July 15, 2025
baby's first poetry collection! interesting insight into Ditlevsen's thoughts/ feelings/ worries through different life stages. I also find myself worrying about some of the same things (every second page is dog-eared). There might be emotionally "heavy" topics throughout, but definitely worth the read!
Displaying 1 - 30 of 323 reviews