Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Ester Naomi Perquin

CONNECTION

The muffling telephone made your voice
even softer than you like to be,
copy, aspire to be.
 
Oh, for months, you said, those blind doubts
about ringing you. Neither you nor I
was there wholly by chance that night.
 
Silence. I assess the furious doggedness
with which you rediscover my body
and carry it, drag it there.
 
If need be, you said, I’ll call again tomorrow.
You waffle a bit about an emptiness that’s
easily sent awry.
 
Lay me next to you. Sometimes I still
dream of children of yours, as in a game.
Beautiful faces that cry.

VERBINDING

VERBINDING

Door het dempen van de telefoon klonk je stem
nog zachter dan je zelf graag bent,
nadoet, pretendeert te zijn.
 
Ach, maanden lang, zei jij, die blinde twijfel
je te bellen. Jij was er evenmin als ik
die nacht geheel toevallig bij.
 
Stilte. Ik schat de woedende verbetenheid
waarmee je mijn lichaam terug vindt
en het daar heen draagt, toe sleept.
 
Als het moet, zei jij, bel ik je morgen weer.
Jij schermt wat met een leegte die zich
eenvoudig laat ontwrichten.
 
Leg me naast je neer. Soms droom ik
nog kinderen van je, spelenderwijs.
Mooie, betraande gezichten.
Close

CONNECTION

The muffling telephone made your voice
even softer than you like to be,
copy, aspire to be.
 
Oh, for months, you said, those blind doubts
about ringing you. Neither you nor I
was there wholly by chance that night.
 
Silence. I assess the furious doggedness
with which you rediscover my body
and carry it, drag it there.
 
If need be, you said, I’ll call again tomorrow.
You waffle a bit about an emptiness that’s
easily sent awry.
 
Lay me next to you. Sometimes I still
dream of children of yours, as in a game.
Beautiful faces that cry.

CONNECTION

The muffling telephone made your voice
even softer than you like to be,
copy, aspire to be.
 
Oh, for months, you said, those blind doubts
about ringing you. Neither you nor I
was there wholly by chance that night.
 
Silence. I assess the furious doggedness
with which you rediscover my body
and carry it, drag it there.
 
If need be, you said, I’ll call again tomorrow.
You waffle a bit about an emptiness that’s
easily sent awry.
 
Lay me next to you. Sometimes I still
dream of children of yours, as in a game.
Beautiful faces that cry.
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