Poem
Ruth Lasters
SPRING
The all-will-be-well-man made of iron and cogwheelshas to be wound up, every day, by a different
citizen. Only with a properly wound-up spring
will he shout jolting through highways and alleys:
‘All, all will always be
well!’ Those forgetting their wind-up turn risk a fine/blame/ death
sentence (not by a long shot, darling, it won’t even
spare the one who tries to brew a highly toxic
elixir of immortality). Seriously: those neglecting their duty to wind the spring
must search blindfolded through the structure
of an all-will-get-
better-man for special bolts, scrap-metal
screws.
VEER
VEER
De alles-komt-goed-man van ijzer en raderwerkdient opgedraaid door, elke dag, een andere
burger. Alleen met degelijk opgewonden veer
schreeuwt hij schokkend bewegend door stad en steeg:
‘Alles, alles komt altijd
goed!’ Wie vergeet zijn opwindkeer wacht een boete/blaam/dood-
straf (bijlange lange niet, lieverd, die is zelfs niet
voor wie tracht te brouwen een hoogst giftig
onsterfelijkheidselixir). Ernstig: wie verzaakt aan zijn veer-
opdraaiplicht dient geblinddoekt te zoeken voor de bouw
van een alles-wordt-
beter-man bijzondere bouten, talloze schroeven uit
schroot.
© 2015, Ruth Lasters
From: Lichtmeters
Publisher: Polis,
From: Lichtmeters
Publisher: Polis,
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Poems of Ruth Lasters
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SPRING
The all-will-be-well-man made of iron and cogwheelshas to be wound up, every day, by a different
citizen. Only with a properly wound-up spring
will he shout jolting through highways and alleys:
‘All, all will always be
well!’ Those forgetting their wind-up turn risk a fine/blame/ death
sentence (not by a long shot, darling, it won’t even
spare the one who tries to brew a highly toxic
elixir of immortality). Seriously: those neglecting their duty to wind the spring
must search blindfolded through the structure
of an all-will-get-
better-man for special bolts, scrap-metal
screws.
From: Lichtmeters
SPRING
The all-will-be-well-man made of iron and cogwheelshas to be wound up, every day, by a different
citizen. Only with a properly wound-up spring
will he shout jolting through highways and alleys:
‘All, all will always be
well!’ Those forgetting their wind-up turn risk a fine/blame/ death
sentence (not by a long shot, darling, it won’t even
spare the one who tries to brew a highly toxic
elixir of immortality). Seriously: those neglecting their duty to wind the spring
must search blindfolded through the structure
of an all-will-get-
better-man for special bolts, scrap-metal
screws.
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