In steam and mist a goodbye seems forever,
more so than when it’s taking place in rain
and I could not believe that you were gone
when Sun was shining on your funeral.
Such brightness that day had, we all walked
smiling to your grave, you would have loved
to be among us; for a moment I was sure you were.
In steam and mist it would have been forever.
When Sun was shining on your funeral,
you went, the coffin white with roses.
More so than when it’s taking place in rain
a goodbye in such light does not mean forever.
’t Was such a day I wanted to wear navy blue,
with maybe a white handbag to go with it, a lady
appropriate in freshness I would be,
a person whom one likes to see walking down the street,
a lady, not only a woman,
a person who can show herself all times,
in navy blue and white.
Yes, that is what I wanted suddenly.
Het was zo’n dag dat ik marineblauw wou dragen,
met een wit tasje nog erbij misschien, een dame
met gepaste frisheid zou ik wezen,
zo iemand die je graag ziet lopen in de straat,
een dame, niet gewoon maar vrouw,
zo iemand die zich overal kan tonen,
in marineblauw en wit.
Ja, dat is wat ik zomaar wou.
We live in our imagination you and I,
a good world where no boundaries are.
Paint me your colours, I emerge as river
under skies of orange, apricot and mauve.
You are the purple fish
that swims against the stream.
I lift my arms and feel the lavender around me
where red has taken over clouds.
Now you are breeze and I am soil and earth.
We live here, in this landscape,
this is ours, our hide away
in a corner of our mind. My love.
The sea in front of me
is the tear mountain’s top
which I started climbing years ago,
sometimes finding my path
in a parallel of the horizon,
sometimes lifted on a wave, or
getting ship wrecked in a storm,
and when I am in calmer water,
always reminded of what it is
that keeps me floating, and
of what it is that lies beneath
in cold and darkness. The undertow.
More to come, though it has been too much already.
The organza curtains slide against your skin.
New is the feeling of this day that just began
and you will win, yes you will win today,
your quiet battle no one knows about.
The photo of the grandson wobbles in the draught.
You only know he has a girlfriend now across the globe.
Across the street another silent fight is fought,
who would have thought her painful night
is similar to yours. But more to come,
of course there’s more, the day has only
started now. The scent of lavender and roses.
“Today they’re going on a holiday!” she says
excited of the thought, but you can’t hear.
Once you had families. Her husband died and you
had children. Now you live alone and so does she.
Your eyes meet hers, only the street
between you two. The weather’s fine
A quiet day, or so you hope, but soon
you’ll have so much to cope, the two of you.
A plane sets off for Asia.
during the sunset
all fire alarms went off
during the sunset
you didn’t blink at all
last view of this life
a good time to ponder
during the sunset
After arguing for an hour
about the colour the dog had,
there is a silence in the marriage
in which the draught can be heard
and flowers ruffling in a vase, thoughts
are coming out of every corner, their
shaking off dust can be heard,
and now the couple sees each other.
“It was brown,” he says and she disagrees,
and relieved they continue the argument.
There was a willow tree,
majestic in the woods
but it stood in the way:
the art school needed space.
The tree was taken down
and paper made of it,
they sold it in a shop
for art- and hobby paint.
A tree was being drawn,
exact the same it was:
the willow on the sheet
of paper that was his.
But life had left the tree,
the painting faded fast,
not liked no more, not cared
the willow was forgotten.
Then on a Summer’s day
the frame fell down the wall,
the drawing flew away
out of the house, was gone.
It landed on the spot
where once the willow stood
and rain fell down and soaked
the painting into soil.
A year went by. In spite
of plans for concrete roads
a willow tree emerged.
Majestic in the woods.
Because there is no comparison, I want to be with you,
because there is no reason but desire, and no other way
to tell you than by clumsy means of my endearment,
while I’m trying to acquire more than is for me to have,
because you know this and keep silent. Because of that. I live,
comparing drifting, changing clouds with faces and with you.