Poem
Lies Van Gasse
REVOLUTION XVII
This evening, when the air sings like bloodand tears the sheet, she sits bald on the horizon.
We look straight into her heart.
The wind is weak and changeable.
She cuts out horses and ladies.
This evening, when stones split
and she dresses the hair around her like ropes,
we see you stand.
You can change into a wall of water.
It’s the final hours
that suck her into destruction,
but you radiate light at the core.
She gives her men a hard time,
casts off, crosses over,
voyages to a better life.
She will sing no more,
reads your shadow
on the wall enclosing her.
She can ball up.
It keeps her warm.
So this evening,
when she swims over in the dark
like a chick unable to find its egg,
no man will guard his girl.
Why would one search?
She will lash herself about you
like soft rope
She will embrace you
like thread.
And so,
the young,
the nest
and all the shingle in between
sits like a tiny feather in her
that might grow sometimes into wings.
I have no prop beneath your language,
and I don’t know where the ship will strand,
whether the river runs inwards,
but what floats best, falls hard.
None of this is necessary.
We have a gap to fill in each other.
© Translation: 2013, Lies Van Gasse
WENTELING XVII
WENTELING XVII
Deze avond, wanneer de lucht zingt als bloeden het laken scheurt, zit zij kaal op de einder.
Wij kunnen recht in haar hart kijken.
De wind is zwak en veranderlijk.
Ze knipt paarden en dames.
Deze avond, wanneer stenen splijten
en zij het haar als touwen rond zich draagt,
zien wij u staan.
U kan in een muur van water veranderen.
Het zijn de laatste uren
die haar in de vernieling zuigen,
maar u schijnt licht in het middelpunt.
Ze zit haar mannen op het vel,
gooit trossen los, steekt over,
bevaart een beter leven.
Ze zal niet meer zingen,
leest uw schaduw
op de wand die haar omsluit.
Ze kan ballen.
Het houdt haar warm.
Dus deze avond,
wanneer zij in het donker overzwemt
als een kuiken dat zijn ei niet vindt,
bergt geen man zijn meisje.
Waarom zou men zoeken?
Ze zal zich om u heen slaan
als zacht touw.
Ze zal u omhelzen als draad.
En zo,
het jong,
het nest
en al het grind daartussen
zit als een kleine veer in haar
die soms tot vleugels groeit.
Ik heb geen stok onder uw taal
en ik weet niet waar het schip zal stranden,
of de rivier zich inwaarts trekt,
maar wat het mooiste zweeft, valt hard.
Niets hiervan is noodzakelijk.
We hebben een wak te vullen in elkaar.
© 2013, Lies Van Gasse
From: Wenteling
Publisher: Wereldbibliotheek, Amsterdam
From: Wenteling
Publisher: Wereldbibliotheek, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Lies Van Gasse
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REVOLUTION XVII
This evening, when the air sings like bloodand tears the sheet, she sits bald on the horizon.
We look straight into her heart.
The wind is weak and changeable.
She cuts out horses and ladies.
This evening, when stones split
and she dresses the hair around her like ropes,
we see you stand.
You can change into a wall of water.
It’s the final hours
that suck her into destruction,
but you radiate light at the core.
She gives her men a hard time,
casts off, crosses over,
voyages to a better life.
She will sing no more,
reads your shadow
on the wall enclosing her.
She can ball up.
It keeps her warm.
So this evening,
when she swims over in the dark
like a chick unable to find its egg,
no man will guard his girl.
Why would one search?
She will lash herself about you
like soft rope
She will embrace you
like thread.
And so,
the young,
the nest
and all the shingle in between
sits like a tiny feather in her
that might grow sometimes into wings.
I have no prop beneath your language,
and I don’t know where the ship will strand,
whether the river runs inwards,
but what floats best, falls hard.
None of this is necessary.
We have a gap to fill in each other.
© 2013, Lies Van Gasse
From: Wenteling
From: Wenteling
REVOLUTION XVII
This evening, when the air sings like bloodand tears the sheet, she sits bald on the horizon.
We look straight into her heart.
The wind is weak and changeable.
She cuts out horses and ladies.
This evening, when stones split
and she dresses the hair around her like ropes,
we see you stand.
You can change into a wall of water.
It’s the final hours
that suck her into destruction,
but you radiate light at the core.
She gives her men a hard time,
casts off, crosses over,
voyages to a better life.
She will sing no more,
reads your shadow
on the wall enclosing her.
She can ball up.
It keeps her warm.
So this evening,
when she swims over in the dark
like a chick unable to find its egg,
no man will guard his girl.
Why would one search?
She will lash herself about you
like soft rope
She will embrace you
like thread.
And so,
the young,
the nest
and all the shingle in between
sits like a tiny feather in her
that might grow sometimes into wings.
I have no prop beneath your language,
and I don’t know where the ship will strand,
whether the river runs inwards,
but what floats best, falls hard.
None of this is necessary.
We have a gap to fill in each other.
© 2013, Lies Van Gasse
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