Poem
Roberta Petzoldt
Heart
Heart has been said too often in poemsthat’s why I say it to my mother.
She sees the air mirage
she can’t stand the news anymore. It resembles the olds too much.
In silence it’s better to believe what you have never seen.
The biggest bodies ever to have been born
swim in waters of planetary depths.
The double helix dances round the earth’s crown
the moving DNA of the god RA.
But it would never be moving if she didn’t see it
a blind solar storm
I lay her on the grass, plant the trees she dreamt
the blue flowers and braid a brook beneath
the blossom. I know those things.
Inside the earth an echo of the sun.
We see the tiny heart beating. Empathetic animals
gather fluttering, scratching, and with great
expectation around the stomach.
An x-ray of the sun.
It is hard to believe
what you see.
The amniotic fluid is full of plastic. Scientists
try to capture prayers in formulas. Artists
look for the muse with a calculator.
People of faith replace the human right
with the most pious right. Politicians buy their votes
and pay with children. No hand is clean
all tears repeat themselves in the atmosphere.
Where the heart is unborn, contradictions live
in terrifying solitude.
The water breaks, a deluge, volcanoes
give birth to the new earth.
Three days of darkness before the baby opens her eyes.
© Translation: 2020, Laurens van de Linde
Hart
Hart
Hart is te vaak gezegd in gedichtendaarom zeg ik het tegen mijn moeder.
Ze ziet de lucht spiegelen
ze kan het nieuws niet meer aanzien. Het lijkt teveel op het ouds.
In stilte kan je beter geloven, wat je nog nooit zag.
De grootste lichamen die ooit geboren werden
zwemmen in planeetdiepe wateren.
Rond de kruin van de aarde danst de dubbele helix
het ontroerende DNA van de god RA.
Maar het zou nooit ontroeren als zij het niet zag
een blinde zonnestorm.
Ik leg haar op het gras, plant de bomen die ze droomde
de blauwe bloemen en vlecht een beekje onder
de bloesem door. Ik ken die dingen.
Binnen in de aarde een echo van de zon.
We zien het hartje kloppen. Empathische dieren
verzamelen zich fladderend, krabbelend en vol
verwachting rondom de buik.
Een röntgenfoto van de zon.
Het is moeilijk om te geloven
wat je ziet.
Het vruchtwater drijft vol plastic. Wetenschappers
proberen gebeden in formules te vangen. Kunstenaars
zoeken de muze met een rekenmachine.
Gelovigen vervangen het recht van de mens
met het recht van de vroomste. Politici kopen hun stemmen
en betalen met kinderen. Geen hand is schoon
alle tranen blijven zich herhalen in de dampkring.
Waar het hart ongeboren is, leven de tegenstellingen
in afschrikwekkende eenzaamheid.
De vliezen barsten, een zondvloed, vulkanen
baren de nieuwe aarde.
Drie dagen duisternis voor de baby haar ogen opent.
© 2019, Roberta Petzoldt
From: Vruchtwatervuurlinie
Publisher: Van Oorschot, Amsterdam
From: Vruchtwatervuurlinie
Publisher: Van Oorschot, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Roberta Petzoldt
Close
Heart
Heart has been said too often in poemsthat’s why I say it to my mother.
She sees the air mirage
she can’t stand the news anymore. It resembles the olds too much.
In silence it’s better to believe what you have never seen.
The biggest bodies ever to have been born
swim in waters of planetary depths.
The double helix dances round the earth’s crown
the moving DNA of the god RA.
But it would never be moving if she didn’t see it
a blind solar storm
I lay her on the grass, plant the trees she dreamt
the blue flowers and braid a brook beneath
the blossom. I know those things.
Inside the earth an echo of the sun.
We see the tiny heart beating. Empathetic animals
gather fluttering, scratching, and with great
expectation around the stomach.
An x-ray of the sun.
It is hard to believe
what you see.
The amniotic fluid is full of plastic. Scientists
try to capture prayers in formulas. Artists
look for the muse with a calculator.
People of faith replace the human right
with the most pious right. Politicians buy their votes
and pay with children. No hand is clean
all tears repeat themselves in the atmosphere.
Where the heart is unborn, contradictions live
in terrifying solitude.
The water breaks, a deluge, volcanoes
give birth to the new earth.
Three days of darkness before the baby opens her eyes.
© 2020, Laurens van de Linde
From: Vruchtwatervuurlinie
From: Vruchtwatervuurlinie
Heart
Heart has been said too often in poemsthat’s why I say it to my mother.
She sees the air mirage
she can’t stand the news anymore. It resembles the olds too much.
In silence it’s better to believe what you have never seen.
The biggest bodies ever to have been born
swim in waters of planetary depths.
The double helix dances round the earth’s crown
the moving DNA of the god RA.
But it would never be moving if she didn’t see it
a blind solar storm
I lay her on the grass, plant the trees she dreamt
the blue flowers and braid a brook beneath
the blossom. I know those things.
Inside the earth an echo of the sun.
We see the tiny heart beating. Empathetic animals
gather fluttering, scratching, and with great
expectation around the stomach.
An x-ray of the sun.
It is hard to believe
what you see.
The amniotic fluid is full of plastic. Scientists
try to capture prayers in formulas. Artists
look for the muse with a calculator.
People of faith replace the human right
with the most pious right. Politicians buy their votes
and pay with children. No hand is clean
all tears repeat themselves in the atmosphere.
Where the heart is unborn, contradictions live
in terrifying solitude.
The water breaks, a deluge, volcanoes
give birth to the new earth.
Three days of darkness before the baby opens her eyes.
© 2020, Laurens van de Linde
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