Poem
Anne Vegter
UNDER A FAITHFUL SKY
Your sweetheart counted the intervals in your drinking-spree. Underneath the housethat night the blackbird ranted with blackbirds and subject matters with effervescent sentences.
He cornered me (a trick). We had a feeble day. Something exploded, the city sprung up.
Is there a protocol for animal welfare when that happens, your sweetheart wanted to know.
Almost rhythmically, an admirable tone. I believed in magnanimous ancestries,
even though I stood strangely with billowing hands and by now everyone was ranting.
The city slurred to its knees. None for desperation, he said, or just a few.
First make victims. Some might think that easy, but I mean real ones.
© Translation: 2013, Astrid Alben
ONDER EEN WAARACHTIGE HEMEL
ONDER EEN WAARACHTIGE HEMEL
Je liefste telde pauzes in je drinkgelag. Onder het huis ging de merel tekeermet merels en goeie onderwerpen die nacht met schitterende regels.
Hij dreef me in een hoek (spelletje). We hadden een zwakke dag. Iets ontplofte,
de stad verrees. Is er een protocol voor hoe je dan omgaat met beesten, zei je liefste.
Haast ritmisch, een bewonderenswaardige toon. Ik geloofde in royale afkomsten,
al stond ik vreemd met bolle handen en inmiddels ging iedereen tekeer.
De stad zakte lallend in elkaar. Voor radeloosheid geen, zei hij, of een enkel.
Eerst slachtoffers maken. Sommigen denken dat het eenvoudig is, maar ik bedoel echte.
© 2007, Anne Vegter
From: Spamfighter
Publisher: Querido, Amsterdam
From: Spamfighter
Publisher: Querido, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Anne Vegter
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UNDER A FAITHFUL SKY
Your sweetheart counted the intervals in your drinking-spree. Underneath the housethat night the blackbird ranted with blackbirds and subject matters with effervescent sentences.
He cornered me (a trick). We had a feeble day. Something exploded, the city sprung up.
Is there a protocol for animal welfare when that happens, your sweetheart wanted to know.
Almost rhythmically, an admirable tone. I believed in magnanimous ancestries,
even though I stood strangely with billowing hands and by now everyone was ranting.
The city slurred to its knees. None for desperation, he said, or just a few.
First make victims. Some might think that easy, but I mean real ones.
© 2013, Astrid Alben
From: Spamfighter
From: Spamfighter
UNDER A FAITHFUL SKY
Your sweetheart counted the intervals in your drinking-spree. Underneath the housethat night the blackbird ranted with blackbirds and subject matters with effervescent sentences.
He cornered me (a trick). We had a feeble day. Something exploded, the city sprung up.
Is there a protocol for animal welfare when that happens, your sweetheart wanted to know.
Almost rhythmically, an admirable tone. I believed in magnanimous ancestries,
even though I stood strangely with billowing hands and by now everyone was ranting.
The city slurred to its knees. None for desperation, he said, or just a few.
First make victims. Some might think that easy, but I mean real ones.
© 2013, Astrid Alben
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