Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Hester Knibbe

THERE IS ALWAYS

     1

     *

There is always a first
head that you draw
with two
eyes no
mouth yet
arms and legs no
hands and feet. There is

always a first
mouth that appears
in the slapdash
head without
speaking
though you quickly
learn that

this

is how smiles are drawn
how sadness seems.



     **

Even when the nest
is a mishmash
of chance
findings
the egg gets laid
and breaks
in the end.

What you’re after is

not the shell
that protects you
but a frail
brokenness: daring
that movement
without awareness of
repetition boredom

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     2

     *

There is always a first

doubt: what for. Knocked at the gods’ door, but
they were not in, had other hassles to manage: grass
that modified, suddenly denigrated its roots, wanted no more to do
with them, air was enough for it. I dug and dug in the earth
constantly finding under and under but once exhumed it became
a mountain where each answer every surprise
had to find itself among the others.

Then I went walking in wind and into a light
that did not cease as long as I walked in that light
as long as it skimmed over my earth. It had
no above or below, no left or right, nowhere
a middle, I could not put my hand on it, it laid
itself on my hand and my head and slipped sparkling
from under my feet when I tried to walk over it.



     **

We were the sun at the noon hour
sat in Utopia’s shadow, told one another
stories about how it was and still is with a future
so directly in front of your feet that you could trip on it.
We pointed to a butterfly trying to find nectar
in plastic, grotesque mythical creatures and
kept the children off limits. One said:

we’ve gone along with now for so long that we’ll surely
know what’s best, another promptly objected.
We ate frivolously with our fingers because we found
that knives and forks were out of place in that airy entourage.
So it grew later, we found ourselves in growing
shadow, still had further to go to touch warmth
again and light that still was, still was far from.



     ***

One day so much tree lay in the water
that it touched the bottom, fish
got stuck in its foliage. Decided to move
the branches aside, to walk over between the leaves.
Sun was already chafing against late summer while
it began to get windy. I held on tight, wavering nearly
blowing me down, and I wondered what forgetting looks like

on the other side: x to the power of I wouldn’t
know
. Kinderszenen, and around me
a dusk developed slowly, trying to blacken
the birds: silhouettes racing past
in search of a place to sleep.
And the voices that skimmed across the water already sounded
more vague, more singsong, almost a day more stricken in age.

ER IS ALTIJD

     1

     *

Er is altijd een eerste
hoofd dat je tekent
met twee
ogen geen
mond nog wel
armen en benen geen
handen en voeten. Er is

altijd een eerste
mond die verschijnt
in het slordige   
hoofd nog zonder 
te spreken
maar je leert al
snel dat je

zo

lachen tekent
hoe treurig moet.



     **

Ook als het nest
een ratjetoe is
van toevallige
vondsten
legt zich het ei
en breekt
ten slotte.

Wat je zoekt is

niet de schaal
die je hoedt
maar het frêle
kaduuk: die beweging
durven
nog zonder weet van
herhaling verveling

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2

*

Er is altijd een eerste

twijfel waartoe. Klopte aan bij de goden maar
die gaven niet thuis, hadden met andere sores te stellen: gras  
dat gemodificeerd plots afgaf op, niets meer wilde weten van
zijn wortels, lucht was het genoeg. Ik groef en groef in de aarde
vond voortdurend onder en onder maar opgegraven werd het
een berg waarin ieder antwoord elke verbazing zichzelf
maar moest zien te vinden tussen de andere.

Toen ben ik gaan wandelen in wind en een licht in
dat maar niet ophield zolang ik liep in dat licht
zolang het scheerde over mijn aarde. Het had
geen onder en boven, geen links en rechts, nergens
een midden, ik kon er mijn hand niet op leggen, het legde
zich op mijn hand en mijn hoofd en floepte stralend
onder mijn voeten vandaan als ik er overheen wilde lopen.



**

Wij waren de zon op het middaguur
zaten in Utopia’s schaduw, vertelden elkaar
verhalen over hoe het was en toch is met een toekomst
zo pal voor je voeten dat je erover struikelen kunt.
We wezen elkaar op een vlinder die nectar bij plastic
probeerde te vinden, groteske fabeldieren en
hielden de kinderen buiten de perken. Eén zei:

we gaan al zo lang mee dat we toch wel zullen
weten wat goed, een ander sprak dat prompt tegen.  
We aten lichtzinnig met onze vingers omdat we vonden
dat messen en vorken in die luchtige entourage
misstonden. Zo werd het later, kwamen we in steeds meer
schaduw, moesten toch al een eindje om weer aan warmte
te raken en licht dat nog lange nee nog lange niet.



     ***

Op een dag lag er zoveel boom in het water
dat het de bodem raakte, vissen zich klem
zwommen in het gebladerte. Besloot
de takken opzij te buigen, tussen het lover door
over te lopen. Zon schurkte al aan tegen nazomer terwijl
het begon te waaien. Hield me vast, aarzeling wilde me
omblazen en ik vroeg mij af hoe aan de overzijde

vergeten eruitziet: x tot de macht ik zou het
niet weten
? Kinderszenen, en om mij heen
ontstond langzaam een schemer die vogels zwart
probeerde te maken: voorbijschietende
silhouetten op zoek naar een slaapplek.
En de stemmen die over het water scheerden klonken
al vager, zangeriger ook al bijna een dag bedaagder.
Close

THERE IS ALWAYS

     1

     *

There is always a first
head that you draw
with two
eyes no
mouth yet
arms and legs no
hands and feet. There is

always a first
mouth that appears
in the slapdash
head without
speaking
though you quickly
learn that

this

is how smiles are drawn
how sadness seems.



     **

Even when the nest
is a mishmash
of chance
findings
the egg gets laid
and breaks
in the end.

What you’re after is

not the shell
that protects you
but a frail
brokenness: daring
that movement
without awareness of
repetition boredom

profiles
Facebook



     2

     *

There is always a first

doubt: what for. Knocked at the gods’ door, but
they were not in, had other hassles to manage: grass
that modified, suddenly denigrated its roots, wanted no more to do
with them, air was enough for it. I dug and dug in the earth
constantly finding under and under but once exhumed it became
a mountain where each answer every surprise
had to find itself among the others.

Then I went walking in wind and into a light
that did not cease as long as I walked in that light
as long as it skimmed over my earth. It had
no above or below, no left or right, nowhere
a middle, I could not put my hand on it, it laid
itself on my hand and my head and slipped sparkling
from under my feet when I tried to walk over it.



     **

We were the sun at the noon hour
sat in Utopia’s shadow, told one another
stories about how it was and still is with a future
so directly in front of your feet that you could trip on it.
We pointed to a butterfly trying to find nectar
in plastic, grotesque mythical creatures and
kept the children off limits. One said:

we’ve gone along with now for so long that we’ll surely
know what’s best, another promptly objected.
We ate frivolously with our fingers because we found
that knives and forks were out of place in that airy entourage.
So it grew later, we found ourselves in growing
shadow, still had further to go to touch warmth
again and light that still was, still was far from.



     ***

One day so much tree lay in the water
that it touched the bottom, fish
got stuck in its foliage. Decided to move
the branches aside, to walk over between the leaves.
Sun was already chafing against late summer while
it began to get windy. I held on tight, wavering nearly
blowing me down, and I wondered what forgetting looks like

on the other side: x to the power of I wouldn’t
know
. Kinderszenen, and around me
a dusk developed slowly, trying to blacken
the birds: silhouettes racing past
in search of a place to sleep.
And the voices that skimmed across the water already sounded
more vague, more singsong, almost a day more stricken in age.

THERE IS ALWAYS

     1

     *

There is always a first
head that you draw
with two
eyes no
mouth yet
arms and legs no
hands and feet. There is

always a first
mouth that appears
in the slapdash
head without
speaking
though you quickly
learn that

this

is how smiles are drawn
how sadness seems.



     **

Even when the nest
is a mishmash
of chance
findings
the egg gets laid
and breaks
in the end.

What you’re after is

not the shell
that protects you
but a frail
brokenness: daring
that movement
without awareness of
repetition boredom

profiles
Facebook



     2

     *

There is always a first

doubt: what for. Knocked at the gods’ door, but
they were not in, had other hassles to manage: grass
that modified, suddenly denigrated its roots, wanted no more to do
with them, air was enough for it. I dug and dug in the earth
constantly finding under and under but once exhumed it became
a mountain where each answer every surprise
had to find itself among the others.

Then I went walking in wind and into a light
that did not cease as long as I walked in that light
as long as it skimmed over my earth. It had
no above or below, no left or right, nowhere
a middle, I could not put my hand on it, it laid
itself on my hand and my head and slipped sparkling
from under my feet when I tried to walk over it.



     **

We were the sun at the noon hour
sat in Utopia’s shadow, told one another
stories about how it was and still is with a future
so directly in front of your feet that you could trip on it.
We pointed to a butterfly trying to find nectar
in plastic, grotesque mythical creatures and
kept the children off limits. One said:

we’ve gone along with now for so long that we’ll surely
know what’s best, another promptly objected.
We ate frivolously with our fingers because we found
that knives and forks were out of place in that airy entourage.
So it grew later, we found ourselves in growing
shadow, still had further to go to touch warmth
again and light that still was, still was far from.



     ***

One day so much tree lay in the water
that it touched the bottom, fish
got stuck in its foliage. Decided to move
the branches aside, to walk over between the leaves.
Sun was already chafing against late summer while
it began to get windy. I held on tight, wavering nearly
blowing me down, and I wondered what forgetting looks like

on the other side: x to the power of I wouldn’t
know
. Kinderszenen, and around me
a dusk developed slowly, trying to blacken
the birds: silhouettes racing past
in search of a place to sleep.
And the voices that skimmed across the water already sounded
more vague, more singsong, almost a day more stricken in age.
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