Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Nico Bleutge

wandering particles, seeing

was this one movement, to give the landscape points to follow
fuse boxes, knots, the wooden posts rammed
into the cliff and the wrapped-up boats. the ocean

slowly returned to the shore, at the fractures
air seeped through the stones and lowered the pressure
in the ears. tracks for the hearing, warmer sounds, the pulling-in

and pulling-out of the train on the hillsides: this soft
rhythmic motion which fetched the houses and lifted them upwards
the light outside the windows climbed up quietly too, a tender turn

held shoulders in position above the expanse of sand
its coarsely-ground edges bent down into
the hollows of the shore-wall, behind the seaweed-paths

the odd twig grasped, the small irrigation ditches
in front of the sheaves of brushwood and straw, the damply
extending beds. it was only on the narrow limestone

terraces that the wind relented a little, and the sounds were lured
more easily by the bushes, by the little leaves
dipping up and down. the waves came up

as far as the parapet of the hanging steps, their plaits
of eelgrass swallowed the hand and the oily particles
stretching out and contracting again

wandernde teilchen, das sehen

wandernde teilchen, das sehen

war diese eine bewegung, der landschaft punkte vorzugeben
sicherungskästen, knoten, die in den fels gestemmten
pfosten aus holz, und die eingewickelten boote. das meer

kehrte langsam ans ufer zurück, an den bruchstellen
sickerte luft durch die steine und senkte den druck
in den ohren. hörspuren, wärmere töne, das ein-

und ausfahren des zuges an den berghängen: dieser weiche
rhythmische schwung, der die häuser nach oben holte
das licht vor den fenstern stieg leise mit, eine zarte drehung

hielt die schultern über der sandfläche fest
ihre grob geschliffenen kanten bogen sich ein
in die mulden der strandmauer, hinter die tangpfade

griffen vereinzelt zweige, die kleinen bewässerungsgräben
vor den garben aus reisig und stroh, die sich feucht
dehnenden beete. nur auf den schmalen kalkterrassen

gab die luft ein wenig nach, und die töne wurden leichter
von den büschen angelockt, von den auf-
und abtauchenden blättchen. bis an die brüstung

der hangtreppe kamen die wellen heran, ihre flechten
aus seegras verschluckten die hand und die öligen teilchen
die sich streckten und wieder zusammenzogen
Close

wandering particles, seeing

was this one movement, to give the landscape points to follow
fuse boxes, knots, the wooden posts rammed
into the cliff and the wrapped-up boats. the ocean

slowly returned to the shore, at the fractures
air seeped through the stones and lowered the pressure
in the ears. tracks for the hearing, warmer sounds, the pulling-in

and pulling-out of the train on the hillsides: this soft
rhythmic motion which fetched the houses and lifted them upwards
the light outside the windows climbed up quietly too, a tender turn

held shoulders in position above the expanse of sand
its coarsely-ground edges bent down into
the hollows of the shore-wall, behind the seaweed-paths

the odd twig grasped, the small irrigation ditches
in front of the sheaves of brushwood and straw, the damply
extending beds. it was only on the narrow limestone

terraces that the wind relented a little, and the sounds were lured
more easily by the bushes, by the little leaves
dipping up and down. the waves came up

as far as the parapet of the hanging steps, their plaits
of eelgrass swallowed the hand and the oily particles
stretching out and contracting again

wandering particles, seeing

was this one movement, to give the landscape points to follow
fuse boxes, knots, the wooden posts rammed
into the cliff and the wrapped-up boats. the ocean

slowly returned to the shore, at the fractures
air seeped through the stones and lowered the pressure
in the ears. tracks for the hearing, warmer sounds, the pulling-in

and pulling-out of the train on the hillsides: this soft
rhythmic motion which fetched the houses and lifted them upwards
the light outside the windows climbed up quietly too, a tender turn

held shoulders in position above the expanse of sand
its coarsely-ground edges bent down into
the hollows of the shore-wall, behind the seaweed-paths

the odd twig grasped, the small irrigation ditches
in front of the sheaves of brushwood and straw, the damply
extending beds. it was only on the narrow limestone

terraces that the wind relented a little, and the sounds were lured
more easily by the bushes, by the little leaves
dipping up and down. the waves came up

as far as the parapet of the hanging steps, their plaits
of eelgrass swallowed the hand and the oily particles
stretching out and contracting again
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