Poem
L.F. Rosen
SHELTER
Like a rusty spear a screamshoots from his throat.
We lay him behind a screen.
Grown greedy from our attention
he submerges us in his silence.
When we lift up the blankets
a nervous little grey bird
appears beneath his ribs.
So we convey him on great wheels to
a place that promises more of a future.
Where he can regain
the colour of food –
of washed fruit and red
meat. And where clear soup
awaits in a deep plate
– a little bird
could drown
in it.
© Translation: 2009, Paul Vincent
BESCHUTTING
BESCHUTTING
Als een roestige speer schieteen schreeuw uit zijn keel.
Wij leggen hem achter een scherm.
Gulzig geworden van onze aandacht
dompelt hij ons onder in zijn zwijgen.
Als wij de dekens opslaan
verschijnt een zenuwachtig,
grijs vogeltje achter zijn ribben.
Dus rijden wij hem op grote wielen naar
een plaats die wellicht meer toekomst biedt.
Waar hij weer de kleur
van voedsel kan krijgen –
van gewassen fruit en rood
vlees. En waar heldere soep
wacht in een diep bord
– een vogeltje
zou erin kunnen
verdrinken.
From: Droomvlees
Publisher: Wagner & Van Santen, Sliedrecht
Publisher: Wagner & Van Santen, Sliedrecht
Poems
Poems of L.F. Rosen
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SHELTER
Like a rusty spear a screamshoots from his throat.
We lay him behind a screen.
Grown greedy from our attention
he submerges us in his silence.
When we lift up the blankets
a nervous little grey bird
appears beneath his ribs.
So we convey him on great wheels to
a place that promises more of a future.
Where he can regain
the colour of food –
of washed fruit and red
meat. And where clear soup
awaits in a deep plate
– a little bird
could drown
in it.
© 2009, Paul Vincent
From: Droomvlees
From: Droomvlees
SHELTER
Like a rusty spear a screamshoots from his throat.
We lay him behind a screen.
Grown greedy from our attention
he submerges us in his silence.
When we lift up the blankets
a nervous little grey bird
appears beneath his ribs.
So we convey him on great wheels to
a place that promises more of a future.
Where he can regain
the colour of food –
of washed fruit and red
meat. And where clear soup
awaits in a deep plate
– a little bird
could drown
in it.
© 2009, Paul Vincent
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