Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Sonja vom Brocke

the insects come when you leave the net

the insects come when you leave the net
don’t you get it, swelling broth queen
slovening around in ochre
until your rump (thanks to its funnel-wheels) rotates
maimed into the earth
where the lyres are waiting, elysian alpine meadow
where there’s a scent of lamentation
and running shoes wear what you carry off

crawl through the frost
grass-blades glazing your thighs
hair mousse foaming out of the water, courtyard
of your poverty, derust the winds
thin katabatics
oil your feet well!
And spit on your fists, squeeze your gall bladder
out of the net





surrounded
all-round (all together, bestiary)

de insecten komen als jij je net verlaat

de insecten komen als jij je net verlaat 
schiet je te binnen, brijwijf
sloddert okerkleurig rond 
tot je romp je (dankzij zijn trechterraderen) gewond
het aardrijk in draait
waar de lieren wachten, Elysese almen
waar de ellende geurt
en de wandelschoenen dragen wat jij wegsleept

kruip door de hoepelrijp
halmen glaceren de dijen
haarmousse schuimt uit ’t water, hof
van je armoe, ontroest de winden 
dunne katabase
olie je voeten goed!
En spuw in je knuisten, druk je gal 
het net uit





omrond
all-round (allemaal samen, bestiarium)

die Insekten kommen, wenn du das Netz verlässt
geht dir auf, Breiweib
schlamperst in Ockerfarbe herum
bis sich dein Rumpf (dank seiner Trichterräder) versehrt
ins Erdreich dreht
wo die Leiern warten, elysische Alm
wo der Jammer duftet
und die Laufschuhe tragen, was du verschleppst

kriech durch den Reif
Halme glasieren die Schenkel
Haarmousse schäumt aus dem Wasser, Hof
deiner Armut, entroste die Winde
dünne Katabase
öle deine Füße gut!
Und spuck auf die Fäuste, drück deine Galle
zum Netz hinaus





umrundet
all-round (alle zusammen, Bestiarium)
Close

the insects come when you leave the net

the insects come when you leave the net
don’t you get it, swelling broth queen
slovening around in ochre
until your rump (thanks to its funnel-wheels) rotates
maimed into the earth
where the lyres are waiting, elysian alpine meadow
where there’s a scent of lamentation
and running shoes wear what you carry off

crawl through the frost
grass-blades glazing your thighs
hair mousse foaming out of the water, courtyard
of your poverty, derust the winds
thin katabatics
oil your feet well!
And spit on your fists, squeeze your gall bladder
out of the net





surrounded
all-round (all together, bestiary)

the insects come when you leave the net

the insects come when you leave the net
don’t you get it, swelling broth queen
slovening around in ochre
until your rump (thanks to its funnel-wheels) rotates
maimed into the earth
where the lyres are waiting, elysian alpine meadow
where there’s a scent of lamentation
and running shoes wear what you carry off

crawl through the frost
grass-blades glazing your thighs
hair mousse foaming out of the water, courtyard
of your poverty, derust the winds
thin katabatics
oil your feet well!
And spit on your fists, squeeze your gall bladder
out of the net





surrounded
all-round (all together, bestiary)
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