Poem
Jan Glas
THE MAN WHO WORE GOOD SUITS
I shared my bed with a man who wore good suits, shoesto go down on your knees for.
He had stuffed his ears full of music.
One spring a bush of sensible remarks grew
out of his mouth. The bush became a tree
and the man disappeared into the ground.
Now I wear his suits, they’re a bit tight on me,
just as my garden is gradually
getting too small for the tree.
I accept reality.
Only a little information is needed
to comprehend the world.
© Translation: 2013, John Irons
DE MAN DIJ GOIE PAKKEN DROUG
Ik deelde het bed met een man die goeie pakken droeg, schoenenom voor op de knieën te gaan.
Zijn oortjes had hij volgestopt met muziek.
In een voorjaar groeide een struikje verstandige opmerkingen
uit zijn mond. Het struikje werd een boom
en de man verdween in de grond.
Nu draag ik zijn pakken, ze zitten mij wat krap,
net zoals mijn tuintje onderhand
te klein wordt voor de boom.
De realiteit aanvaard ik.
Er is maar weinig informatie nodig
om de wereld te begrijpen.
© Vertaling: 2013, Jan Glas
DE MAN DIJ GOIE PAKKEN DROUG
Ik dailde t ber mit n man dij goie pakken droug, schounenom veur op knijen te goan.
Zien oorkes haar hai volstopt mit muziek.
Ien n veujoar gruide n stroekje verstandege opmaarkens
oet zien mond. t Stroekje wer n boom
en man verdween ien grond.
Nou droag ik zien pakken, ze zitten mie wat krap,
net zoas mien toentje onderhand
te klaain wordt veur de boom.
De waarkelkhaid aanvoard ik.
Der is mor waaineg informoatsie neudeg
om wereld te begriepen.
© 2013, Jan Glas
Poems
Poems of Jan Glas
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THE MAN WHO WORE GOOD SUITS
I shared my bed with a man who wore good suits, shoesto go down on your knees for.
He had stuffed his ears full of music.
One spring a bush of sensible remarks grew
out of his mouth. The bush became a tree
and the man disappeared into the ground.
Now I wear his suits, they’re a bit tight on me,
just as my garden is gradually
getting too small for the tree.
I accept reality.
Only a little information is needed
to comprehend the world.
© 2013, John Irons
THE MAN WHO WORE GOOD SUITS
I shared my bed with a man who wore good suits, shoesto go down on your knees for.
He had stuffed his ears full of music.
One spring a bush of sensible remarks grew
out of his mouth. The bush became a tree
and the man disappeared into the ground.
Now I wear his suits, they’re a bit tight on me,
just as my garden is gradually
getting too small for the tree.
I accept reality.
Only a little information is needed
to comprehend the world.
© 2013, John Irons
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