Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Hester Knibbe

While leaf scatters across the path, the body

*

While leaf scatters across the path, the body
already braced for snow, in the head still

remains of summer:  that evening we sat
at a table outside talking and addressed
the fleshpots, the owls

made the night a spectacle.
We could not see them but heard their
calls cross through the dark to

no one in particular. Airy response
came from far and seemingly higher.

We imitated them, would have liked
for a moment to be invisible too, waiting
for an answer that surely should come. But we

sat much lower, almost lightheartedly laughed and drank
our shard- and bottle-bliss together.

Terwijl blad over het pad stuift, het lijf zich

     *

Terwijl blad over het pad stuift, het lijf zich
al indekt tegen het sneeuwen, in het hoofd nog

restanten van zomer: we zaten die avond
buiten aan tafel te praten en spraken 
de vleespotten aan, de uilen

maakten de nacht tot spektakel.
We zagen ze niet maar hoorden ze
dwars door het donker roepen naar

niemand in het bijzonder. IJl respons
kwam van ver en schijnbaar van hoger.

Wij deden ze na, hadden het liefst ook 
voor even onzichtbaar verheven gewacht op
een antwoord dat zeker zou komen. Maar wij

zaten veel lager, lachten en dronken bijna luchthartig
ons scherven- en flessengeluk bij elkaar.
Close

While leaf scatters across the path, the body

*

While leaf scatters across the path, the body
already braced for snow, in the head still

remains of summer:  that evening we sat
at a table outside talking and addressed
the fleshpots, the owls

made the night a spectacle.
We could not see them but heard their
calls cross through the dark to

no one in particular. Airy response
came from far and seemingly higher.

We imitated them, would have liked
for a moment to be invisible too, waiting
for an answer that surely should come. But we

sat much lower, almost lightheartedly laughed and drank
our shard- and bottle-bliss together.

While leaf scatters across the path, the body

*

While leaf scatters across the path, the body
already braced for snow, in the head still

remains of summer:  that evening we sat
at a table outside talking and addressed
the fleshpots, the owls

made the night a spectacle.
We could not see them but heard their
calls cross through the dark to

no one in particular. Airy response
came from far and seemingly higher.

We imitated them, would have liked
for a moment to be invisible too, waiting
for an answer that surely should come. But we

sat much lower, almost lightheartedly laughed and drank
our shard- and bottle-bliss together.
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