Archive for November 21, 2013


Ici dans l’hémisphère nord,
doucement la tristesse du mort
se glisse au bord de l’eau grise,
où l’église se trouve
perdue en plein brouillard.

L’automne est la saison des récoltes,
du vin et des pommes de terre, mais aussi
des couleurs foncées, sombres, oui, ici
je me souviens seulement
la douleur et le noir.

This is my first attempt to do a French poem, excussez moi already for mistakes that are bound to have happened and thank you for suggestions that might improve the above 🙂

Translated in English:


Here in the Northern hemisphere
the sadness of death
softly slides near the water,
where the church finds itself
lost in dense mist.

Autumn is the season of harvests,
of wine and potatoes, but also
of dark, dreary colours, yes, here
I only recall
the pain and the black.

In Dutch:


Hier op het noordelijk halfrond
sluipt de triestheid van de dood
zachtjes tot aan het water
waar de kerk zichzelf verliest
in dichte mist.

Herfst is het seizoen van oogsten,
van wijn en aardappels maar ook
van donkere, sombere tinten, ja, hier
herinner ik me enkel
de pijn en het zwart.

A body miracle

I am surprised my body
made these other bodies
so far with no apparent serious mistakes;
while I am physically rather stupid, incapable
for instance of understanding electricity;
while I have no idea, none whatsoever, of the
complexities of their construction.

I couldn’t tell you how it’s done,
yet as a miracle it happens they do function,
they can move and talk and learn and work,
befriend and love an other. Laugh and cry,
while I am clumsy like an ox.
I am surprised each time I think
my body made me mother.

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