Poem
Ester Naomi Perquin
STATE SECRET
Oversized bird scrubbed clean by bristles thrustinghigh up into the air and
hidden atop the cable, spare,
from which it must suspend this flight.
Concert of unidentified powers,
ruses of clandestine government.
Those girls with their cute skirts and hats?
Silence on board. Or else face the music.
Once aloft, the pressure is so low
all sense – how clumsy, how heavy,
how slow – of gravity is lost.
What is unknown won’t fall.
But who will pay the men whose job it is to pull
the clouds past the wings?
Who will wash their sky-blue overalls?
© Translation: 2010, Paul Vincent
STAATSGEHEIM
STAATSGEHEIM
Overmaatse vogel door hoog in de luchtgestoken borstels schoongeschrobd en
bovenop het dunne touw verstopt
waaraan hij deze vlucht moet hangen.
Samenspel door onbekende machten,
trucages van een verborgen overheid.
Die meisjes met rokjes en hoedjes?
Zwijgen verplicht. Of moeten geloven.
Eenmaal boven is de druk zo laag
dat elk besef ̶ hoe log, hoe zwaar,
hoe traag ̶ van zwaartekracht verdwijnt.
Wat niet weet, wat niet valt.
Maar wie betaalt de mannen die de wolken
langs de vleugels trekken?
Wie wast hun hemelsblauwe overalls?
© 2007, Ester Naomi Perquin
From: Servetten halfstok
Publisher: Van Oorschot, Amsterdam
From: Servetten halfstok
Publisher: Van Oorschot, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Ester Naomi Perquin
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STATE SECRET
Oversized bird scrubbed clean by bristles thrustinghigh up into the air and
hidden atop the cable, spare,
from which it must suspend this flight.
Concert of unidentified powers,
ruses of clandestine government.
Those girls with their cute skirts and hats?
Silence on board. Or else face the music.
Once aloft, the pressure is so low
all sense – how clumsy, how heavy,
how slow – of gravity is lost.
What is unknown won’t fall.
But who will pay the men whose job it is to pull
the clouds past the wings?
Who will wash their sky-blue overalls?
© 2010, Paul Vincent
From: Servetten halfstok
From: Servetten halfstok
STATE SECRET
Oversized bird scrubbed clean by bristles thrustinghigh up into the air and
hidden atop the cable, spare,
from which it must suspend this flight.
Concert of unidentified powers,
ruses of clandestine government.
Those girls with their cute skirts and hats?
Silence on board. Or else face the music.
Once aloft, the pressure is so low
all sense – how clumsy, how heavy,
how slow – of gravity is lost.
What is unknown won’t fall.
But who will pay the men whose job it is to pull
the clouds past the wings?
Who will wash their sky-blue overalls?
© 2010, Paul Vincent
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