Poem
Nyk de Vries
ROOM
In that town there was a room I kept circling. It was near my girlfriend’s. She didn’t know I sometimes climbed those stairs. On the wall there were photos from before the war. I talked to an old Frisian writer about it. He said, ‘I know that room. I should actually go in there, but I’m afraid I’ve left it too late.’ He was right. He died during the Games. The room is still there – up the steps and left down the corridor. Everyone knows more or less what’s inside.
© Translation: 2010, David Colmer
KAMER
KAMER
Er was een kamer in die stad waar ik steeds omheen cirkelde. Het was in de buurt van mijn lief. Ze wist niet dat ik soms die trappen opliep. Aan de wand hingen foto’s van voor de oorlog. Ik sprak er eens over met een oude Friese schrijver. Hij zei: ‘Ik ken die kamer, ik zou er eigenlijk binnen moeten gaan, maar het gaat er niet meer van komen, ben ik bang.’ Hij kreeg gelijk. Hij stierf tijdens de Spelen. De kamer is er nog steeds – de trappen op, linksaf de gang door. Iedereen weet wel zo ongeveer wat erin staat.
© 2010, Nyk de Vries
Publisher: Poetry International,
Publisher: Poetry International,
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ROOM
In that town there was a room I kept circling. It was near my girlfriend’s. She didn’t know I sometimes climbed those stairs. On the wall there were photos from before the war. I talked to an old Frisian writer about it. He said, ‘I know that room. I should actually go in there, but I’m afraid I’ve left it too late.’ He was right. He died during the Games. The room is still there – up the steps and left down the corridor. Everyone knows more or less what’s inside.
© 2010, David Colmer
ROOM
In that town there was a room I kept circling. It was near my girlfriend’s. She didn’t know I sometimes climbed those stairs. On the wall there were photos from before the war. I talked to an old Frisian writer about it. He said, ‘I know that room. I should actually go in there, but I’m afraid I’ve left it too late.’ He was right. He died during the Games. The room is still there – up the steps and left down the corridor. Everyone knows more or less what’s inside.
© 2010, David Colmer
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