Poem
Ester Naomi Perquin
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Heard today how even as childrenthey often longed for a town,
built towers along a muddy path
from what was strewn in yards, on ditch banks.
Not one had thought of grimy then,
of vastness all-too-grey in which
we lost tracks, walls
in which no hand yet cleared a view.
No one had yet pressed austere creases
into fronts of commercial leases.
All was still made of water and sand.
So low was the land that dreams
must reach high, the horizon had emptied away –
they stood and watched till the start of their day.
© Translation: 2010, Paul Vincent
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Vandaag gehoord hoe zij als kinderenvaak al verlangden naar een stad,
langs een modderig pad torens bouwden
van wat aan erf of slootkant lag.
Niet één heeft toen aan grijs gedacht,
aan al te grauwe grootte waarin
wij sporen bijster raakten, muren
waarin geen hand nog uitzicht maakte.
Niemand perste strenge vouwen
in gevels van kantoorgebouwen.
Alles bestond nog uit water en zand.
Zo laag was het land dat dromen
hoog moesten reiken, zo leeg de horizon
̶ ze bleven kijken tot hun dag begon.
© 2007, Ester Naomi Perquin
From: Servetten halfstok
Publisher: Van Oorschot, Amsterdam
From: Servetten halfstok
Publisher: Van Oorschot, Amsterdam
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Poems of Ester Naomi Perquin
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ARCHITECTS
Heard today how even as childrenthey often longed for a town,
built towers along a muddy path
from what was strewn in yards, on ditch banks.
Not one had thought of grimy then,
of vastness all-too-grey in which
we lost tracks, walls
in which no hand yet cleared a view.
No one had yet pressed austere creases
into fronts of commercial leases.
All was still made of water and sand.
So low was the land that dreams
must reach high, the horizon had emptied away –
they stood and watched till the start of their day.
© 2010, Paul Vincent
From: Servetten halfstok
From: Servetten halfstok
ARCHITECTS
Heard today how even as childrenthey often longed for a town,
built towers along a muddy path
from what was strewn in yards, on ditch banks.
Not one had thought of grimy then,
of vastness all-too-grey in which
we lost tracks, walls
in which no hand yet cleared a view.
No one had yet pressed austere creases
into fronts of commercial leases.
All was still made of water and sand.
So low was the land that dreams
must reach high, the horizon had emptied away –
they stood and watched till the start of their day.
© 2010, Paul Vincent
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