Poem
Erik Menkveld
EVERYANIMAL
By the ditch’s side I am sprouting udders,in the air feathers stick into my skin.
In the mud behind some farms
a rooting disc is growing on my snout.
Over the dung heap or below the duckweed:
if need be I’ll shift in swarms or schools.
Cloaked in the grey-brown fly-skin
stretched between my limbs
I hang in barns or desolated quarries
upside down in dormant state.
As a herd I wrap my hands and feet
with horn and effortlessly switch
between a gait on palm, or toe, or hoof.
I stretch out cautious lips on the savannah
for leaves high up between the thorns. And
there blood also runs across my stripes
or I yawn listlessly from eternal lionicity.
Legs and hide I often leave behind
in sea, or swamp or desert sands. There I must be
either soft bodied, gaudy or poisonous.
And then there are the countless possibilities
that I no longer get to show:
spike on the forehead, scorching breath,
a horse’s body with human breast.
This has always bothered me: each animal
one sees is but a fraction of myself.
Look: in this primeval forest I burl and rub
across a trunk with shovel antlers
while my proboscis, dorsal fin, my spines
remain invisible in this biotope.
For once, I wish I could appear in fullest
glory, although surroundings never fit.
© Translation: 2005, Willem Groenewegen
ALLESDIER
ALLESDIER
Aan de slootkant ontspruiten mij uiers,in de lucht steken mij veren in de huid.
In de modder achter sommige boerderijen
groeit mij een wroetschijf aan de snuit.
Boven de mesthoop of onder het kroos:
zo nodig schift ik in zwermen of scholen.
Gehuld in de grijsbruine vlieghuid
die tussen mijn ledematen spant
hang ik in schuren of verlaten groeven
ondersteboven in slaaptoestand.
Als kudde omgeef ik handen en voeten
met hoorn en schakel ik moeiteloos
van zool- of teen- naar hoefgang over.
Omzichtige lippen strek ik op savannes
naar hoge blaadjes tussen doorns. Ook
loopt me het bloed daar over de strepen
of geeuw ik uit eeuwige leeuwheid loom.
Vaak laat ik poten en pels achterwege
in zee, moeras of zandwoestijn. Daar
moet ik week of felgekleurd of giftig zijn.
En dan heb ik tal van mogelijkheden
waar ik nooit meer voor de dag mee kom:
piek op het voorhoofd, verzengende
adem, een paardenlijf met mensenromp.
Dat heeft me altijd dwarsgezeten: elk dier
dat men ziet is een fractie van mij.
Kijk maar: in dit oerbos burl ik en schurk
langs een stam met mijn schoffelgewei
terwijl mijn slurf, mijn rugvin, mijn stekels
in deze biotoop niet zichtbaar zijn.
Wat zou ik mij graag eens in volle glorie
voordoen, al past daar geen omgeving bij.
From: Schapen nu!
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Erik Menkveld
Close
EVERYANIMAL
By the ditch’s side I am sprouting udders,in the air feathers stick into my skin.
In the mud behind some farms
a rooting disc is growing on my snout.
Over the dung heap or below the duckweed:
if need be I’ll shift in swarms or schools.
Cloaked in the grey-brown fly-skin
stretched between my limbs
I hang in barns or desolated quarries
upside down in dormant state.
As a herd I wrap my hands and feet
with horn and effortlessly switch
between a gait on palm, or toe, or hoof.
I stretch out cautious lips on the savannah
for leaves high up between the thorns. And
there blood also runs across my stripes
or I yawn listlessly from eternal lionicity.
Legs and hide I often leave behind
in sea, or swamp or desert sands. There I must be
either soft bodied, gaudy or poisonous.
And then there are the countless possibilities
that I no longer get to show:
spike on the forehead, scorching breath,
a horse’s body with human breast.
This has always bothered me: each animal
one sees is but a fraction of myself.
Look: in this primeval forest I burl and rub
across a trunk with shovel antlers
while my proboscis, dorsal fin, my spines
remain invisible in this biotope.
For once, I wish I could appear in fullest
glory, although surroundings never fit.
© 2005, Willem Groenewegen
From: Schapen nu!
From: Schapen nu!
EVERYANIMAL
By the ditch’s side I am sprouting udders,in the air feathers stick into my skin.
In the mud behind some farms
a rooting disc is growing on my snout.
Over the dung heap or below the duckweed:
if need be I’ll shift in swarms or schools.
Cloaked in the grey-brown fly-skin
stretched between my limbs
I hang in barns or desolated quarries
upside down in dormant state.
As a herd I wrap my hands and feet
with horn and effortlessly switch
between a gait on palm, or toe, or hoof.
I stretch out cautious lips on the savannah
for leaves high up between the thorns. And
there blood also runs across my stripes
or I yawn listlessly from eternal lionicity.
Legs and hide I often leave behind
in sea, or swamp or desert sands. There I must be
either soft bodied, gaudy or poisonous.
And then there are the countless possibilities
that I no longer get to show:
spike on the forehead, scorching breath,
a horse’s body with human breast.
This has always bothered me: each animal
one sees is but a fraction of myself.
Look: in this primeval forest I burl and rub
across a trunk with shovel antlers
while my proboscis, dorsal fin, my spines
remain invisible in this biotope.
For once, I wish I could appear in fullest
glory, although surroundings never fit.
© 2005, Willem Groenewegen
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