The lines between us spoken, no pauses,
Keep us together for a while, for this time, but
What happens if we stop
Talking about weather and work and politics (such matter that doesn’t),
When silence takes over the space between us,
Rudely digging in mines of what is our distance? I could do.
This, and still be here with you, but you? We are apart.
I shall not do this. Not start.
I think it might rain, but the
Fish tasted nice, don’t go yet.
Hold this frail silver line
To safety as I shall rescue you
As you shall rescue me.
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The lines between us spoken, no pauses,
Extending my awareness I shiver,
Shutting my eyes – no resolution.
I do not want this:
This fever, fear, a premonition of
A flooding river, my own bareness,
I must abandon all I am
To overcome that last fall to the sea.
We did not get out of the house that week,
As it rained and we had plenty of food.
There were books and music could be heard
From next door where a piano was played.
We soon stopped talking. We watched
The wallpaper free itself from the moist wall
And Chopin had enough to say for us both.
Then one morning the sun shone
And I opened the door. All was different
As I realized you had not been here for years
And the neighbour together with his piano
Had moved out months ago.
My memory of how we met that day
Before we fell in love, before we knew,
Is gaining golden layers in every May,
And more and more is speaking about you.
It happened suddenly: out of the blue
You stood before me. What was I to say?
We did what strangers are supposed to do;
The smiling of our eyes gave us away.
We tried to lie about it though ’t was true
That I would never want to leave, but stay
And for a while I thought you had no clue.
We were to part again, our love astray.
Now we’re two strangers on the quay, you say,
Both watching sailing ships move in the bay.
She told me my future on a cold Summer’s day,
On the quay of the harbour in Whitby,
And it sounded too weird for my ears to believe.
But while seven years passed, her predictions came true
Like she said, one by one. (I’am still due for more offspring
and some very good luck.) How she knew?
If she’s still there, and psychic enough,
She will know I’ll be grateful as long as I live
For her viewing and all of her magic.
Yesterday evening was the poetry event “Dichter bij zee 2015” , where people read their own poetry. There also was a nationally known poet, Ruben van Gogh, and the winner of the poetry competition was announced. For the category of 16+ the winning poem was “Ook jij niet”, written by me. :) So there I was on stage.
Last year, my poem “Verrinneweerd” also wan, a shared first price. I translated the poem “Devastated” and put in on my blog. It will be in Roads 2. I had put it on the Poetry from the sea blog and this year a reader told me she had found the poem on a scarf that she bought at C&A in Germany. So they had just taken the text from my blog.
I googled, the scarf is on sale in various countries. I also purchased 2 to have some evidence. Nice scarfs :) My publisher is dealing with the matter now, and I do hope some right will be done.
I am not sure I can translate “Ook jij nog” but I shall give it a try later on.
For now, I am very grateful and a little proud to have been involved in the event.
This is the poem in Dutch:
Ook jij niet
Een heftig paars vervaagt tot roze pulp,
Mijn aderen bewegen als ik adem,
Voortgedreven zonder hulp:
Ik ben, maar nu al niet meer die ik was.
Van aanvang af is er een eerder,
Het wordt niet minder en niet meer want
alles stroomt, soms alle kanten uit.
Ik luister naar het sterkere geluid,
Aan alle kanten raast het leven langs me.
Waar het begin is van ons bondje weet ik niet,
En waar het einde wacht, wat kan het schelen.
Zoals de luchten nooit hetzelfde zijn,
Kan ik niet blijven wie ik ben. Ook jij niet, die
Van alle stromen de meest meegaande was.
Are my thoughts really silent for another?
Or does sound escape from the bone walls of my skull?
As sometimes you do speak my mind so well
And I often scream my silent wonder, so
It would make sense to me
That by hearing you could tell.
Is my hope of private thoughts a disillusion?
Confusion, I start thinking you are psychic,
All my feelings, likes and dislikes an open book perhaps.
Then you ask me about coffee, milk and sugar?
Stuff I think that you would know.
Relieved I realise
My secret thoughts will never show.
Black! No sugar!