Poem
Rita Dove
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Billie Holidays gloeiende stemheeft even veel schaduwen als lichten,
een droevige kandelaber tegen een glimmende piano,
de gardenia haar handtekening onder dat vernielde gezicht.
(Nu kook je, drummer bij bass,
magische lepel, magische naald.
Neem de hele dag als je moet
met je spiegel en je armband van lied.)
Feit is, de uitvinding van overwonnen vrouwen
is geweest liefde aan te scherpen in dienst van de mythe.
Als je niet vrij kan zijn, wees een mysterie.
© Vertaling: 2019, Jan Eijkelboom
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Billie Holiday’s burned voicehad as many shadows as lights,
a mournful candelabra against a sleek piano,
the gardenia her signature under that ruined face.
(Now you’re cooking, drummer to bass,
magic spoon, magic needle.
Take all day if you have to
With your mirror and your bracelet of song.)
Fact is, the invention of women under siege
has been to sharpen love in the service of myth.
If you can’t be free, be a mystery.
© 2016, Rita Dove
From: Collected Poems 1974-2004
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Co., Inc., New York
From: Collected Poems 1974-2004
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Co., Inc., New York
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Billie Holiday’s burned voicehad as many shadows as lights,
a mournful candelabra against a sleek piano,
the gardenia her signature under that ruined face.
(Now you’re cooking, drummer to bass,
magic spoon, magic needle.
Take all day if you have to
With your mirror and your bracelet of song.)
Fact is, the invention of women under siege
has been to sharpen love in the service of myth.
If you can’t be free, be a mystery.
From: Collected Poems 1974-2004
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