Poetry Monday :: Pineapple ~ Ananas

     Vi har jo så lært at en ananas hverken hedder "an ananas" eller "a ananas" på engelsk, men a pineapple. Til gengæld kan jeg ikke klare et digt på dansk denne gang.
     Det engelske digt beskriver mit første møde med ananas-på-planten i det sydlige Sudan. På vej ud til ananasmarken var vi kommet forbi nogle træer med papayafrugter - de gror direkte på træets stamme.

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For long my brain did balk at pineapples. Nothing really rhymes; the are tasty and good, but not quite the stuff from which poetry is made. The I recalle my first meeting with a pineapple plant. On our way there, we passed some papaya trees with fruits growing from the trunk of the tree!


We once was in Africa, me and a crew
We wanted to see where the pineapple grew.
We drove very far
In an old, rusty car
Until we arrived at a farm in the night

Next morning we walked yet a bit to a field
Where pineapple plants were ready to yield
As we were by then
used to Sudanese men
We were sure they were pulling our leg.

The pineapples stood there in row upon row
In the hot morning sun's yellow glow
From tiny to big
They stood on a stick
In pineapple tops on the ground.

As the master of pineapples looked at our frown
He bend down, pulled one off the ground.
We saw juices run.
He did not make fun.
The pineapples grow just like this!

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Next Monday: Cookies