Poem
Anna Enquist
FROM DELFT
If light falls here, it's under a skyof lead, false glow, late in the day.
Wish I could take the city, set myself up
in the stone circle in the marketplace, and drink
the blooded shadow of town hall
Get your head examined. I pound on the walls;
they go up in dust like ash in a stove in the morning,
as if I exist. Out of the canals rises
a wall of caustic water. Here's where it was,
here's where I sighed for the open polder and fell against
an icy structure. Here's where you trade the trip
for the tight home corner.
© Translation: 1998, Lloyd Haft
UIT DELFT
UIT DELFT
Als hier licht valt, dan onder lodenlucht, valse gloed in de namiddag.
Kon ik de stad innemen, mij stellen
in de stenen cirkel op de markt, drinkend
de bloedige schaduw van het stadhuis –
Laat naar je kijken. Ik bonk op de muren,
zij verstuiven als ochtendas in de kachel,
of ik er ben. Uit de grachten rijst
een wal van zuur water. Hier was het,
hier zuchtte ik om de polder, viel ik
tegen ijzig bouwwerk. Hier ruilt men
de reis tegen een enge thuiskomst.
© 2000, Anna Enquist
From: De tweede helft
Publisher: De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam
From: De tweede helft
Publisher: De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Anna Enquist
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FROM DELFT
If light falls here, it's under a skyof lead, false glow, late in the day.
Wish I could take the city, set myself up
in the stone circle in the marketplace, and drink
the blooded shadow of town hall
Get your head examined. I pound on the walls;
they go up in dust like ash in a stove in the morning,
as if I exist. Out of the canals rises
a wall of caustic water. Here's where it was,
here's where I sighed for the open polder and fell against
an icy structure. Here's where you trade the trip
for the tight home corner.
© 1998, Lloyd Haft
From: De tweede helft
From: De tweede helft
FROM DELFT
If light falls here, it's under a skyof lead, false glow, late in the day.
Wish I could take the city, set myself up
in the stone circle in the marketplace, and drink
the blooded shadow of town hall
Get your head examined. I pound on the walls;
they go up in dust like ash in a stove in the morning,
as if I exist. Out of the canals rises
a wall of caustic water. Here's where it was,
here's where I sighed for the open polder and fell against
an icy structure. Here's where you trade the trip
for the tight home corner.
© 1998, Lloyd Haft
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