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Poem

Shang Ch\'in

ELECTRIC LOCK

Tonight the streetlights where I live went out at midnight as usual.

While I looked for my key the kind-hearted taxi driver aimed his headlights at my back as he backed up. The ruthless glare projected the inky silhouette of a middle-aged man onto the steel gate. It was only after I had found the right key on the chain and inserted it straight into my heart that the good fellow drove off.

Then I turned the key in my heart with a click, pulled out the delicate piece of metal, pushed the gate open, and stroke in. Soon I got used to the darkness inside.

ELEKTRISCH SLOT

Vannacht waren de straatlantaarns in de wijk waar ik woon weer precies om middernacht uitgegaan.

Terwijl ik mijn sleutel opviste, richtte de vriendelijke taxichauffeur bij het keren zijn koplampen op mij, genadeloos tekenden de sterke stralen het gitzwarte silhouet van een man van middelbare leeftijd op de ijzeren deur, totdat ik de juiste sleutel uit de bos had gepakt en hem recht in mijn hart had gestoken, waarna de vriendelijke taxichauffeur wegreed.

Toen pas draaide ik de sleutel in mijn hart met een klik om, ik duwde tegen de deur, terwijl ik het ingenieuze metaal er meteen weer uit trok, en liep resoluut naar binnen.
Al snel was ik aan het donker gewend.

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Poems of Shang Ch\'in
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ELECTRIC LOCK

Tonight the streetlights where I live went out at midnight as usual.

While I looked for my key the kind-hearted taxi driver aimed his headlights at my back as he backed up. The ruthless glare projected the inky silhouette of a middle-aged man onto the steel gate. It was only after I had found the right key on the chain and inserted it straight into my heart that the good fellow drove off.

Then I turned the key in my heart with a click, pulled out the delicate piece of metal, pushed the gate open, and stroke in. Soon I got used to the darkness inside.

ELECTRIC LOCK

Tonight the streetlights where I live went out at midnight as usual.

While I looked for my key the kind-hearted taxi driver aimed his headlights at my back as he backed up. The ruthless glare projected the inky silhouette of a middle-aged man onto the steel gate. It was only after I had found the right key on the chain and inserted it straight into my heart that the good fellow drove off.

Then I turned the key in my heart with a click, pulled out the delicate piece of metal, pushed the gate open, and stroke in. Soon I got used to the darkness inside.
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Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
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J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
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Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
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