Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Marieke Lucas Rijneveld

IF IT HAPPENS TO YOU

How do you go to bed when you have just run over a sheep? Trembling on the
edge of the bed your cold hands like raw steaks over your eyes, her hand

forms half an orange which presses heavily upon your knee, back and forth
it moves, squeezing out everything that has happened to you but don’t forget the speed

of speaking, without pause everything remains a void, sadness has little chance
of coming through.  Please speak of wine you think, of how the children

are growing and of all the poppies recklessly springing open but her head has
long been an Autocue, you know what you must say to comfort her:

playing fair weather has more to do with rain and it’s raining as though we once
invented the sun. You walk circles round the bedroom, trying to click your thoughts

together like a bracelet, wash your hands again and again and examine them
testing their purity, body hissing like a rusty barbeque.

She says there are glasses and a bottle of wine in the nightstand, left from the last time
that you trembled and all that blood. After two glasses she gives up, you shrink beneath the sheets

like the sheep beneath the tires, you think of everything that has ever perished and the slap
that it brought with it, you carry this with you until your heart becomes a grave, your head

the granite stone above it, finally at rest you weep wine until it is
no longer about the sheep but about who will comfort the driver, you poor, daft dog.

ALS HET JE OVERKOMT

ALS HET JE OVERKOMT

Hoe ga je naar bed als je net een schaap hebt overreden, trillend op de
bedrand je koude handen als rauwe sukadelappen op je ogen, haar hand

tot halve sinaasappel gevormd die zwaar op je knie drukt, heen en weer
beweegt om alles uit te persen wat je is overkomen maar vergeet niet de snelheid

van het praten, zonder pauzes blijft alles vacuüm, heeft verdriet weinig kans
ertussen te komen. Begin alsjeblieft over wijn denk je nog, over hoe de kinderen

opgroeien en al die klaprozen roekeloos openspringen maar haar hoofd is al
tijden een autocue, je weet wat je moet zeggen om haar gerust te stellen:

mooi weer spelen heeft meer met regen te maken en het regent alsof we de zon
ooit bedacht hebben. Je loopt rondjes door de slaapkamer om je gedachten als een

armband in elkaar te kunnen klikken, wast je handen keer op keer en kijkt ernaar om
de zuiverheid te testen, het lichaam sissend als een verroeste barbecue.

Ze zegt dat er glazen en een wijnfles in het nachtkastje staan, nog van de vorige keer
dat je bevend en al dat bloed. Na twee glazen valt ze uit, krimp je ineen onder de lakens

als het schaap onder je autobanden, denk je aan alles wat ooit sneuvelde en een klap
met zich meebracht, je draagt dat met je mee tot je hart in een graf verandert, je hoofd

als een granieten steen erbovenop, eindelijk tot rust gekomen huil je wijn totdat het
niet meer om het schaap gaat maar om wie de bestuurder troost, jij arme, dwaze hond.
Close

IF IT HAPPENS TO YOU

How do you go to bed when you have just run over a sheep? Trembling on the
edge of the bed your cold hands like raw steaks over your eyes, her hand

forms half an orange which presses heavily upon your knee, back and forth
it moves, squeezing out everything that has happened to you but don’t forget the speed

of speaking, without pause everything remains a void, sadness has little chance
of coming through.  Please speak of wine you think, of how the children

are growing and of all the poppies recklessly springing open but her head has
long been an Autocue, you know what you must say to comfort her:

playing fair weather has more to do with rain and it’s raining as though we once
invented the sun. You walk circles round the bedroom, trying to click your thoughts

together like a bracelet, wash your hands again and again and examine them
testing their purity, body hissing like a rusty barbeque.

She says there are glasses and a bottle of wine in the nightstand, left from the last time
that you trembled and all that blood. After two glasses she gives up, you shrink beneath the sheets

like the sheep beneath the tires, you think of everything that has ever perished and the slap
that it brought with it, you carry this with you until your heart becomes a grave, your head

the granite stone above it, finally at rest you weep wine until it is
no longer about the sheep but about who will comfort the driver, you poor, daft dog.

IF IT HAPPENS TO YOU

How do you go to bed when you have just run over a sheep? Trembling on the
edge of the bed your cold hands like raw steaks over your eyes, her hand

forms half an orange which presses heavily upon your knee, back and forth
it moves, squeezing out everything that has happened to you but don’t forget the speed

of speaking, without pause everything remains a void, sadness has little chance
of coming through.  Please speak of wine you think, of how the children

are growing and of all the poppies recklessly springing open but her head has
long been an Autocue, you know what you must say to comfort her:

playing fair weather has more to do with rain and it’s raining as though we once
invented the sun. You walk circles round the bedroom, trying to click your thoughts

together like a bracelet, wash your hands again and again and examine them
testing their purity, body hissing like a rusty barbeque.

She says there are glasses and a bottle of wine in the nightstand, left from the last time
that you trembled and all that blood. After two glasses she gives up, you shrink beneath the sheets

like the sheep beneath the tires, you think of everything that has ever perished and the slap
that it brought with it, you carry this with you until your heart becomes a grave, your head

the granite stone above it, finally at rest you weep wine until it is
no longer about the sheep but about who will comfort the driver, you poor, daft dog.
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