Poem
James Noël
Last stage
Here are my fistswhite-hot
a tongue rioter’s fists
an end rioter’s fists
the world’s hunger
speaks a language
within the earth’s stomach
Here are my fists
shaking from dormant murders
a visionary’s fists
moved by profound pyromania
of the first degree in the last stage
little matchstick-end fists
burnt alive by their wooden language
Here are my closed fists
for an openly declared fraternity
FRATERNITY AGAINST
fraternity that must frustrate their laughter
turn it into a quaver
into a long sob
drenched in blood
unable to shed a single tear
fraternity that must expose
their dry failure
take hold of my closed newborn fists
before irrevocably breaking
the cot bars
with loaded fists
born of a hasty storm
inherited from a Loa* of fire
from a Loa of wind
fists moved by profound pyromania
of the first degree in the last stage
*A spirit in Haitian Vodou
© Translation: 2019, Serafina Vick
Laatste fase
ik toon je mijn vuistenwitheet
vuisten van een rebel van de taal
vuisten van een rebel tegen het einde
de eindeloze honger van de wereld
die spreekt in de taal
in de buik van de aarde
ik toon je mijn vuisten
bevend van sluimerende slachting
verlichte vuisten
aangestoken door vergaande pyromanie
eerstegraads in de laatste fase
vuisten van luciferkoppen
levend verbrand in hun taal van hout
ik toon je mijn gebalde vuisten
als openlijke betuiging van broederschap
TEGENBROEDERSCHAP
broederschap die hun het lachen laat vergaan
er een vibrato van maakt
een lang en bloederig
gejank
zonder dat ze een traan kunnen laten
broederschap die hun droge defect
zal aantonen
grijp mijn gebalde vuisten van een zuigeling
die tegen elke prijs de spijlen
van de wieg moeten breken
vuisten geladen
met vroegrijp onweer
geërfd van een Loa van vuur
van een Loa van wind
vuisten aangestoken door vergaande pyromanie
eerstegraads in de laatste fase
© Vertaling: 2019, Vicky Francken
Dernière phase
je te tends mes poingschauffés à blanc
des poings d’émeutier de la langue
des poings d’émeutier de la fin
la faim du monde
qui parle en langage
dans le ventre de la terre
je te tends mes poings
frémissant d’assassinats latents
des poings d’illuminé
atteints de pyromanie profonde
au premier degré de la dernière phase
des poings de petit bout d’allumettes
brûlés vifs dans leur langue de bois
je te tends mes poings fermés
pour une fraternité ouvertement déclarée
LA FRATERNITE CONTRE
fraternité qui doit contrarier leur rire
le tourner en trémolo
en sanglot long
sanguinolent
qui n’a pas les moyens d’une seule larme
fraternité qui doit mettre en évidence
leur panne sèche
tenez mes poings fermés de nouveau-né
devant rompre à tout prix
les barreaux du berceau
des poings chargés
d’un orage précoce
hérité d’un Loa du feu
d’un Loa du vent
des poings atteints de pyromanie profonde
au premier degré de la dernière phase
© 2010, James Noël
From: Poings chauffés à blanc
Publisher: Bruno Doucey, Paris
From: Poings chauffés à blanc
Publisher: Bruno Doucey, Paris
Poems
Poems of James Noël
Close
Last stage
Here are my fistswhite-hot
a tongue rioter’s fists
an end rioter’s fists
the world’s hunger
speaks a language
within the earth’s stomach
Here are my fists
shaking from dormant murders
a visionary’s fists
moved by profound pyromania
of the first degree in the last stage
little matchstick-end fists
burnt alive by their wooden language
Here are my closed fists
for an openly declared fraternity
FRATERNITY AGAINST
fraternity that must frustrate their laughter
turn it into a quaver
into a long sob
drenched in blood
unable to shed a single tear
fraternity that must expose
their dry failure
take hold of my closed newborn fists
before irrevocably breaking
the cot bars
with loaded fists
born of a hasty storm
inherited from a Loa* of fire
from a Loa of wind
fists moved by profound pyromania
of the first degree in the last stage
*A spirit in Haitian Vodou
© 2019, Serafina Vick
From: Poings chauffés à blanc
From: Poings chauffés à blanc
Last stage
Here are my fistswhite-hot
a tongue rioter’s fists
an end rioter’s fists
the world’s hunger
speaks a language
within the earth’s stomach
Here are my fists
shaking from dormant murders
a visionary’s fists
moved by profound pyromania
of the first degree in the last stage
little matchstick-end fists
burnt alive by their wooden language
Here are my closed fists
for an openly declared fraternity
FRATERNITY AGAINST
fraternity that must frustrate their laughter
turn it into a quaver
into a long sob
drenched in blood
unable to shed a single tear
fraternity that must expose
their dry failure
take hold of my closed newborn fists
before irrevocably breaking
the cot bars
with loaded fists
born of a hasty storm
inherited from a Loa* of fire
from a Loa of wind
fists moved by profound pyromania
of the first degree in the last stage
*A spirit in Haitian Vodou
© 2019, Serafina Vick
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère