Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Zali Gurevitch

HOME & CAMP

I’m not in any camp
I live at home
Not in a camp
But even at home I’ve made myself a sort of camp
The rooms are spread out like tents
And we move about between them
Sit in a tent
Especially in the kitchen tent
And at night sleep each in a tent of his own
D in his and H and I in ours
At my desk too
What is this if not a camp
It’s quiet now
But like headquarters
The telephone works
The computer works
The printer works
Full of papers and books, and files
And letters
And drafts, and what not
And everything jumbled and ordered in equal measure
This morning for some reason
The pile scattered
There’s no other way
All day I tried to pile it up again
(It turned cold
I lit the stove in the room)
I sat by the fire

HOME & CAMP

Close

HOME & CAMP

I’m not in any camp
I live at home
Not in a camp
But even at home I’ve made myself a sort of camp
The rooms are spread out like tents
And we move about between them
Sit in a tent
Especially in the kitchen tent
And at night sleep each in a tent of his own
D in his and H and I in ours
At my desk too
What is this if not a camp
It’s quiet now
But like headquarters
The telephone works
The computer works
The printer works
Full of papers and books, and files
And letters
And drafts, and what not
And everything jumbled and ordered in equal measure
This morning for some reason
The pile scattered
There’s no other way
All day I tried to pile it up again
(It turned cold
I lit the stove in the room)
I sat by the fire

HOME & CAMP

I’m not in any camp
I live at home
Not in a camp
But even at home I’ve made myself a sort of camp
The rooms are spread out like tents
And we move about between them
Sit in a tent
Especially in the kitchen tent
And at night sleep each in a tent of his own
D in his and H and I in ours
At my desk too
What is this if not a camp
It’s quiet now
But like headquarters
The telephone works
The computer works
The printer works
Full of papers and books, and files
And letters
And drafts, and what not
And everything jumbled and ordered in equal measure
This morning for some reason
The pile scattered
There’s no other way
All day I tried to pile it up again
(It turned cold
I lit the stove in the room)
I sat by the fire
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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
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VDM
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