Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Erik Spinoy

It was an afternoon

It was an afternoon
of petrified hours
whiter still than bone
I was not

even twelve and something
sunlike rose upwards
threading these hot days
blankly together
therein

I went towards the river
following this rod
to biting trout
till there at once (the colour
of butter, caramel) lay

what in spring had been an elk –
antlers, pelvis and a ribcage.

Once it was all carried to the cabin
in the bundle of my poncho
I let father (when his angry
growl had faded)
kneel next to me
matching
measuring
till the dark
was blackboard black

for hours I had entered
my other world
with him.

Het was een middag

Het was een middag
van versteende uren
witter nog dan been
geen

twaalf was ik en iets
zonachtigs klom omhoog
en reeg de hete dagen
wezenloos aaneen
daarin

ik liep rivierwaarts
achter deze hengel aan
naar happende forellen
tot daar opeens (de kleur
van boter, karamel) iets lag

wat in het voorjaar nog een eland was –
gewei, een bekken en een ribbenkas.

Eens alles naar de blokhut weggedragen
in het holle van mijn poncho
liet ik vader (na het smoren
van zijn boos gegrom)
knielen bij me
passen
meten
tot de schemer
schoolbordzwart geworden was

en urenlang was ik met hem
mijn andere wereld
ingestapt.
Close

It was an afternoon

It was an afternoon
of petrified hours
whiter still than bone
I was not

even twelve and something
sunlike rose upwards
threading these hot days
blankly together
therein

I went towards the river
following this rod
to biting trout
till there at once (the colour
of butter, caramel) lay

what in spring had been an elk –
antlers, pelvis and a ribcage.

Once it was all carried to the cabin
in the bundle of my poncho
I let father (when his angry
growl had faded)
kneel next to me
matching
measuring
till the dark
was blackboard black

for hours I had entered
my other world
with him.

It was an afternoon

It was an afternoon
of petrified hours
whiter still than bone
I was not

even twelve and something
sunlike rose upwards
threading these hot days
blankly together
therein

I went towards the river
following this rod
to biting trout
till there at once (the colour
of butter, caramel) lay

what in spring had been an elk –
antlers, pelvis and a ribcage.

Once it was all carried to the cabin
in the bundle of my poncho
I let father (when his angry
growl had faded)
kneel next to me
matching
measuring
till the dark
was blackboard black

for hours I had entered
my other world
with him.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère