Poem
Stefan Hertmans
THE BOWLS
She the fruit, he the beast.He keeps the liver separate,
Because blood spills from the entrails.
Hunters know that, as do lions.
He has the bowls and basins ready,
And sharp knives for angels
Who won’t be any help.
Everything can clot and
Suddenly flow again,
Stand still or move,
As the tendons in his flesh
Never cease to tremble
While his heart, cellar-deep,
Can cave in any moment.
© Translation: 2016, Donald Gardner
De kommen
De kommen
Zij de vruchten, hij het beest.De lever houdt hij nog apart,
Want ingewanden geven bloed.
Dat weten jagers en de leeuw.
Teiltjes en kommen heeft hij al,
En scherpe messen voor engelen
Die niet zullen helpen.
Alles kan stollen en
Opeens gaan vloeien,
Stilstaan of bewegen,
Zoals de pezen in zijn vlees
Niet ophouden met beven
Terwijl zijn hart, zo kelderdiep,
Het elk ogenblik kan begeven.
© 2015, Stefan Hertmans
From: Neem en lees
Publisher: CPNB,
From: Neem en lees
Publisher: CPNB,
Poems
Poems of Stefan Hertmans
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THE BOWLS
She the fruit, he the beast.He keeps the liver separate,
Because blood spills from the entrails.
Hunters know that, as do lions.
He has the bowls and basins ready,
And sharp knives for angels
Who won’t be any help.
Everything can clot and
Suddenly flow again,
Stand still or move,
As the tendons in his flesh
Never cease to tremble
While his heart, cellar-deep,
Can cave in any moment.
© 2016, Donald Gardner
From: Neem en lees
From: Neem en lees
THE BOWLS
She the fruit, he the beast.He keeps the liver separate,
Because blood spills from the entrails.
Hunters know that, as do lions.
He has the bowls and basins ready,
And sharp knives for angels
Who won’t be any help.
Everything can clot and
Suddenly flow again,
Stand still or move,
As the tendons in his flesh
Never cease to tremble
While his heart, cellar-deep,
Can cave in any moment.
© 2016, Donald Gardner
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