Poem
Maria van Daalen
Psalm 22
When I open the door of the refrigeratorthe mould on the milk is half an inch thick.
The bread is green and almost translucent.
I close the door and, eyes closed, lean
against the radiator.
I am so dreadfully.
I am so terribly.
I loved him.
When he left, something was torn.
I still cannot stand the smell of coconut
the way his hair smelt, melting in my bed
the little black curls and the stains.
I left, destination unknown,
until I also forgot my own name.
And now.
I open the door of the language
and see the rust of unused words.
How do I reopen my book with fire?
When he left, something was torn.
I looked at my hands in the washing-up water
and saw the shards that were not there,
the soap bubbles that slowly came up and floated away,
the single empty glass.
Years later he sends me an email:
“Today someone wore your perfume,
I smelt it at the university library
and for a full hour looked for you, while knowing
you to be eight flight hours away.”
But the language that I am does not allow me
to describe my tears as soaking wet.
How on earth do you want me to cope, beloved?
When I said I loved it was you
who was inside me. There is no other,
you are the only one. That speaks for itself. You speak. You speak in me
and you say I and I means earth.
When he left something was torn.
From what was torn it started
to bleed until it had wings
and with the quills described the way
from the depths, de profundis, to the light.
© Translation: 2007, Renée Delhez
From: Contemporary Dutch Poets. A Poetry Review Supplement
Publisher: Poetry Society, London, 2007
From: Contemporary Dutch Poets. A Poetry Review Supplement
Publisher: Poetry Society, London, 2007
Psalm 22
Psalm 22
Als ik de deur van de koelkast opendoestaat de schimmel een centimeter op de melk.
Het brood is groen en haast doorzichtig.
Ik sluit de deur en leun met gesloten ogen
tegen de verwarming.
Ik heb zo ontzettend.
Ik heb zo verschrikkelijk.
Ik hield van hem.
Toen hij wegging is er iets gescheurd.
Nog steeds kan ik de geur van kokos niet verdragen
zoals zijn haar rook, smeltend in mijn bed
de kleine zwarte krullen en de vlekken.
Ik ben vertrokken met bestemming onbekend
totdat ik ook mijn eigen naam vergat.
En nu.
Ik doe de deur van de taal open
en zie de roest van ongebruikte woorden.
Hoe open ik opnieuw mijn boek met vuur?
Toen hij wegging liet de sponning los.
Ik keek naar mijn handen in het afwaswater
en zag de scherven die er niet waren,
de zeepbellen die langzaam opkwamen en wegdreven,
het ene lege glas.
Hij stuurt mij na jaren nog een e-mail:
“Vandaag had iemand jouw parfum op,
ik rook het in de universiteitsbibliotheek
en heb een uur naar je gezocht terwijl ik wist
dat je op acht vlieguren afstand was.”
Maar de taal die ik ben staat mij niet toe
mijn tranen te beschrijven als drijfnat.
Hoe wil je dan dat ik mij red, geliefde?
Toen ik zei dat ik liefhad was het jij
die in mij was. Een ander is er niet,
jij bent de enige. Dat spreekt. Jij spreekt. Jij spreekt in mij
en jij zegt ik en ik betekent aarde.
Toen hij wegging is het vers gescheurd.
Vanuit het gescheurde is het begonnen
te bloeden tot het vleugels had
en met de slagpennen de weg beschreef
vanuit de diepten, de profundis, naar het licht.
© 2007, Maria van Daalen
From: De wet van behoud van energie
Publisher: Querido, Amsterdam
From: De wet van behoud van energie
Publisher: Querido, Amsterdam
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Psalm 22
When I open the door of the refrigeratorthe mould on the milk is half an inch thick.
The bread is green and almost translucent.
I close the door and, eyes closed, lean
against the radiator.
I am so dreadfully.
I am so terribly.
I loved him.
When he left, something was torn.
I still cannot stand the smell of coconut
the way his hair smelt, melting in my bed
the little black curls and the stains.
I left, destination unknown,
until I also forgot my own name.
And now.
I open the door of the language
and see the rust of unused words.
How do I reopen my book with fire?
When he left, something was torn.
I looked at my hands in the washing-up water
and saw the shards that were not there,
the soap bubbles that slowly came up and floated away,
the single empty glass.
Years later he sends me an email:
“Today someone wore your perfume,
I smelt it at the university library
and for a full hour looked for you, while knowing
you to be eight flight hours away.”
But the language that I am does not allow me
to describe my tears as soaking wet.
How on earth do you want me to cope, beloved?
When I said I loved it was you
who was inside me. There is no other,
you are the only one. That speaks for itself. You speak. You speak in me
and you say I and I means earth.
When he left something was torn.
From what was torn it started
to bleed until it had wings
and with the quills described the way
from the depths, de profundis, to the light.
© 2007, Renée Delhez
From: Contemporary Dutch Poets. A Poetry Review Supplement
Publisher: 2007, Poetry Society, London
From: Contemporary Dutch Poets. A Poetry Review Supplement
Publisher: 2007, Poetry Society, London
Psalm 22
When I open the door of the refrigeratorthe mould on the milk is half an inch thick.
The bread is green and almost translucent.
I close the door and, eyes closed, lean
against the radiator.
I am so dreadfully.
I am so terribly.
I loved him.
When he left, something was torn.
I still cannot stand the smell of coconut
the way his hair smelt, melting in my bed
the little black curls and the stains.
I left, destination unknown,
until I also forgot my own name.
And now.
I open the door of the language
and see the rust of unused words.
How do I reopen my book with fire?
When he left, something was torn.
I looked at my hands in the washing-up water
and saw the shards that were not there,
the soap bubbles that slowly came up and floated away,
the single empty glass.
Years later he sends me an email:
“Today someone wore your perfume,
I smelt it at the university library
and for a full hour looked for you, while knowing
you to be eight flight hours away.”
But the language that I am does not allow me
to describe my tears as soaking wet.
How on earth do you want me to cope, beloved?
When I said I loved it was you
who was inside me. There is no other,
you are the only one. That speaks for itself. You speak. You speak in me
and you say I and I means earth.
When he left something was torn.
From what was torn it started
to bleed until it had wings
and with the quills described the way
from the depths, de profundis, to the light.
© 2007, Renée Delhez
From: Contemporary Dutch Poets. A Poetry Review Supplement
Publisher: 2007, Poetry Society, London
From: Contemporary Dutch Poets. A Poetry Review Supplement
Publisher: 2007, Poetry Society, London
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