Poem
Ann Cotten
IN THE MUSEUM OF MISANTHROPY
Pots!At eye level – Shards!
All these dippers and ideals,
imagination healers, bigwigs of the world,
dried, ground, decorated protection,
sieved kernels, beloved fruit, used pelts,
anguish, anguish, anguish, beauty through cruelty,
exceedingly small fake windows.
Basics over basics.
And rotten, evil ancestors,
jealous pitch-black turds.
Recurring patterns on pots.
Important questions that are not new.
Several prominent personalities up to their knees in plural.
Pearls. Divides. Vessels for delicate swine,
mixed, confused, covering their faeces
with delicacy, with giggles, with one another.
Howling of chickens.
Dust, little dust, and fresh information boards.
Where our alphabet comes from! Someone
has fooled the pedagogue with ridiculous scribbles:
Is comes from of a butterfli in Japan!
Where our alphabet comes from! From mistrust
never overcome. It was holes in rocks, became dust.
((Hair and nails are in my way
while I write this. They are sent by the gods.))
Yurts. Buckets. Rugs. Bowls and scarves.
Snow goggles. Jackal deities, venom, three shrunken heads.
Fibers from a hula skirt. A claw from the natural death
of a cockatoo. All that helps and all that does not help at all,
one thousand museums. Idiotic traditions.
Alongside traditions allowing survival under conditions
that maim almost everyone. Blinkered square patterns.
Survival is degeneration. The eternally human is the eternally unpleasant.
If you no longer would like to exist, you may bite the dust.
© Translation: 2011, Ann Cotten
Publisher: First published on PIW, , 2011
Publisher: First published on PIW, , 2011
IN HET MISANTROPISCH MUSEUM
Potten!Op ooghoogte – schalen!
Al die pollepels en idealen,
ingebeelde genezers, heerlijke-wereld-bonzen,
gedroogde, gewreven, geplette hulzen,
gezeefde pitten, genoten vrucht, gebruikte huiden
leed, leed, leed, schoonheid wat ben je wreed,
piepkleine leugenachtige ramen.
Basislaag boven basislaag.
En vieze, bescheten voorvaderen,
jaloerse pekzwarte mannetjes.
Terugkerende patronen op potten.
Belangrijke uitvindingen die niet nieuw zijn.
Enkele prominente manspersonen tot aan de knieën in het meervoud.
Parels. Zuilen. Vaten voor sierlijke varkens,
wild dooreen, die hun behoefte
behoeftig gescheiden doen met gegiechel en
gezwijg.
Gehuil van kippen.
Stof, weinig stof, en nieuw gemaakte infoborden.
Waar onze letters vandaan komen! Iemand heeft
met belachelijke tekens de onderzoeker verneukt.
Waar onze letters vandaan komen! Uit niet te
overwinnen wantrouwen. Gaten in stenen. (Haren en nagels
zitten me in de weg terwijl ik schrijf. Gestuurd door de goden.)
Joerten. Kuipen. Tapijten. Schermen en scherven.
Sneeuwbrillen. Jakhalsgoden, gif, gekrompen koppen: drie.
Bast van een bastrok. Klauw van de natuurlijke dood
van een kaketoe. Al wat helpt en niet helpt, duizend musea. Idiote tradities.
Naast tradities die overleven mogelijk maken
onder voorwaarden die bijna iedereen verminken.
Bekrompen vierkanten patronen. Overleven is wegkwijnen.
Het eeuwig menselijke is het eeuwig onsympathieke.
Als je geen mens meer wil zijn, crepeer dan.
© Vertaling: 2011, Erik de Smedt
Publisher: 2011, First published on PIW,
Publisher: 2011, First published on PIW,
IM MISANTROPHIEMUSEUM
Töpfe!Augenhöhe – Scherben!
All diese Kellen und Ideale,
eingebildete Heiler, heile-Welt-Bonzen,
getrocknete, geriebene, gestampfte Hülsen,
gesiebte Kerne, genossene Frucht, verwertete Bälger,
Leid, Leid, Leid, Schönheit durch Grausamkeit,
überaus kleine verlogene Fenster.
Grundlagen über Grundlagen.
Und üble, verschissene Ahnen,
neidische pechschwarze Männchen.
Wiederkehrende Muster auf Töpfen.
Wichtige Erfindungen, die nicht neu sind.
Einige herausragende Persönlichkeiten knietief im Plural.
Perlen. Säulen. Gefäße für zierliche Schweine,
wild durcheinander, die ihre Notdurft
notdürftig getrennt in Kichern und Schweigen
verrichten.
Geheul von Hühnern.
Staub, wenig Staub, und neu gemachte Informationstafeln.
Wo unsere Buchstaben herkommen! Jemand hat
mit lächerlichen Zeichen den Forscher verarscht.
Wo unsere Buchstaben herkommen! Aus nicht zu
besiegendem Misstrauen. Löcher in Steinen. (Haare und Nägel
sind mir beim Schreiben im Weg. Sie schicken die Götter.)
Jurten. Bottiche. Teppiche. Schalen und Schale.
Schneebrillen. Schakalgottheiten, Gift, an Schrumpfköpfen drei.
Bast eines Bastrocks. Kralle eines natürlichen Todes
von einem Kakadu. Alles was hilft und nicht hilft,
eintausend Museen. Depperte Traditionen.
Nebst Traditionen die das Überleben ermöglichen
unter beinahe jeden verstümmelnden Bedingungen.
Bornierte quadratische Muster. Überleben ist verkümmern.
Das ewig Menschliche ist das ewig Unsympathische.
Willst du kein Mensch mehr sein, krepier.
© 2011, Ann Cotten
Publisher: First published on PIW,
Publisher: First published on PIW,
Poems
Poems of Ann Cotten
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IN THE MUSEUM OF MISANTHROPY
Pots!At eye level – Shards!
All these dippers and ideals,
imagination healers, bigwigs of the world,
dried, ground, decorated protection,
sieved kernels, beloved fruit, used pelts,
anguish, anguish, anguish, beauty through cruelty,
exceedingly small fake windows.
Basics over basics.
And rotten, evil ancestors,
jealous pitch-black turds.
Recurring patterns on pots.
Important questions that are not new.
Several prominent personalities up to their knees in plural.
Pearls. Divides. Vessels for delicate swine,
mixed, confused, covering their faeces
with delicacy, with giggles, with one another.
Howling of chickens.
Dust, little dust, and fresh information boards.
Where our alphabet comes from! Someone
has fooled the pedagogue with ridiculous scribbles:
Is comes from of a butterfli in Japan!
Where our alphabet comes from! From mistrust
never overcome. It was holes in rocks, became dust.
((Hair and nails are in my way
while I write this. They are sent by the gods.))
Yurts. Buckets. Rugs. Bowls and scarves.
Snow goggles. Jackal deities, venom, three shrunken heads.
Fibers from a hula skirt. A claw from the natural death
of a cockatoo. All that helps and all that does not help at all,
one thousand museums. Idiotic traditions.
Alongside traditions allowing survival under conditions
that maim almost everyone. Blinkered square patterns.
Survival is degeneration. The eternally human is the eternally unpleasant.
If you no longer would like to exist, you may bite the dust.
© 2011, Ann Cotten
Publisher: 2011, First published on PIW,
Publisher: 2011, First published on PIW,
IN THE MUSEUM OF MISANTHROPY
Pots!At eye level – Shards!
All these dippers and ideals,
imagination healers, bigwigs of the world,
dried, ground, decorated protection,
sieved kernels, beloved fruit, used pelts,
anguish, anguish, anguish, beauty through cruelty,
exceedingly small fake windows.
Basics over basics.
And rotten, evil ancestors,
jealous pitch-black turds.
Recurring patterns on pots.
Important questions that are not new.
Several prominent personalities up to their knees in plural.
Pearls. Divides. Vessels for delicate swine,
mixed, confused, covering their faeces
with delicacy, with giggles, with one another.
Howling of chickens.
Dust, little dust, and fresh information boards.
Where our alphabet comes from! Someone
has fooled the pedagogue with ridiculous scribbles:
Is comes from of a butterfli in Japan!
Where our alphabet comes from! From mistrust
never overcome. It was holes in rocks, became dust.
((Hair and nails are in my way
while I write this. They are sent by the gods.))
Yurts. Buckets. Rugs. Bowls and scarves.
Snow goggles. Jackal deities, venom, three shrunken heads.
Fibers from a hula skirt. A claw from the natural death
of a cockatoo. All that helps and all that does not help at all,
one thousand museums. Idiotic traditions.
Alongside traditions allowing survival under conditions
that maim almost everyone. Blinkered square patterns.
Survival is degeneration. The eternally human is the eternally unpleasant.
If you no longer would like to exist, you may bite the dust.
© 2011, Ann Cotten
Publisher: 2011, First published on PIW,
Publisher: 2011, First published on PIW,
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