Poem
Iduna Paalman
THE CHANCE OF YOU ASKING MY NAME IS DECLINING BY THE SECOND
You can guarantee the police search your coat when you’ve gotnothing to say. Set your face
to dead calm staying silent, your unloaded arms by your sides.
Being slammed to the ground
can also be a way of satisfying certain physical needs.
What I’ve stolen or been dealing, white or the colour of the
pavement, well you tell me.
What I share, which parts of me provide you with a whole, the proof
still in my back pocket, at home an overblown tulip over the edge
of the chair, which form of notation, which order, you tell me.
If we’re talking about bodies: they function alright but don’t change
colour
with the seasons. Does being special mean that people think about
you at night?
Is there anyone who wants to think about me at night?
Do you know how many men select more attractive genitals, put
them on their
own body, bathroom or cat behind them, that’s called the sharing
economy, huge numbers
of clicks apparently. In principle you could lay claim to me, give me
advice:
first your jokes, then your indifference
then the question whether I want to bite back, even without arrest.
A snarl
can be heard in the sound of your car starting, but something still
slumbers between us. Are
you in any way prepared, I think as I turn around, to continue
watching as I unzip my
jacket, to investigate which laws you think I might be breaking?
DE KANS DAT JE VRAAGT HOE IK HEET WORDT MET DE MINUUT KLEINER
DE KANS DAT JE VRAAGT HOE IK HEET WORDT MET DE MINUUT KLEINER
Juist als je niets te zeggen hebt, kijken agenten onder je jas. Leg jegezicht
een doodkalm zwijgen op, je armen ongeladen langs je lijf.
Hardhandig tegen de grond
gewerkt worden kan ook het bevredigen van een lichamelijke
behoefte zijn.
Wat ik gestolen of gedeald heb, wit of de kleur van ons asfalt, jij
mag het zeggen.
Wat ik deel, welke delen van mij jou een geheel verschaffen, het
bewijs
nog in de kontzak van mijn broek, thuis een uitgebloeide tulp over
de rand
van de stoel, welke notatievorm, welke volgorde, jij mag het
zeggen.
Als we het over een lichaam hebben: het functioneert prima maar
kleurt niet mee
met de seizoenen. Betekent speciaal zijn dat er ’s nachts over je
wordt nagedacht?
Is er iemand die ’s nachts over mij wil nadenken?
Weet je hoeveel mannen online een mooier geslachtsdeel kiezen,
het op hun eigen lichaam
zetten, badkamer of kat erachter, dat heet deeleconomie, de
bezoekersaantallen schijnen
enorm te zijn. In principe zou je aanspraak op me kunnen maken,
me kunnen adviseren:
eerst je grappen, dan je onverschilligheid
dan de vraag of ik ook zonder arrestatie van me af wil bijten. In de
startgeluiden
van je auto is een snauw te herkennen, maar iets tussen ons slaapt
nog steeds. Ben je
überhaupt bereid, denk ik terwijl ik me omdraai, te blijven kijken als
ik mijn jas
openrits, te onderzoeken welke wet ik dreig te overtreden?
© 2019, Iduna Paalman
From: De grom uit de hond halen
Publisher: Uitgeverij Querido, Amsterdam
From: De grom uit de hond halen
Publisher: Uitgeverij Querido, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Iduna Paalman
Close
THE CHANCE OF YOU ASKING MY NAME IS DECLINING BY THE SECOND
You can guarantee the police search your coat when you’ve gotnothing to say. Set your face
to dead calm staying silent, your unloaded arms by your sides.
Being slammed to the ground
can also be a way of satisfying certain physical needs.
What I’ve stolen or been dealing, white or the colour of the
pavement, well you tell me.
What I share, which parts of me provide you with a whole, the proof
still in my back pocket, at home an overblown tulip over the edge
of the chair, which form of notation, which order, you tell me.
If we’re talking about bodies: they function alright but don’t change
colour
with the seasons. Does being special mean that people think about
you at night?
Is there anyone who wants to think about me at night?
Do you know how many men select more attractive genitals, put
them on their
own body, bathroom or cat behind them, that’s called the sharing
economy, huge numbers
of clicks apparently. In principle you could lay claim to me, give me
advice:
first your jokes, then your indifference
then the question whether I want to bite back, even without arrest.
A snarl
can be heard in the sound of your car starting, but something still
slumbers between us. Are
you in any way prepared, I think as I turn around, to continue
watching as I unzip my
jacket, to investigate which laws you think I might be breaking?
From: De grom uit de hond halen
THE CHANCE OF YOU ASKING MY NAME IS DECLINING BY THE SECOND
You can guarantee the police search your coat when you’ve gotnothing to say. Set your face
to dead calm staying silent, your unloaded arms by your sides.
Being slammed to the ground
can also be a way of satisfying certain physical needs.
What I’ve stolen or been dealing, white or the colour of the
pavement, well you tell me.
What I share, which parts of me provide you with a whole, the proof
still in my back pocket, at home an overblown tulip over the edge
of the chair, which form of notation, which order, you tell me.
If we’re talking about bodies: they function alright but don’t change
colour
with the seasons. Does being special mean that people think about
you at night?
Is there anyone who wants to think about me at night?
Do you know how many men select more attractive genitals, put
them on their
own body, bathroom or cat behind them, that’s called the sharing
economy, huge numbers
of clicks apparently. In principle you could lay claim to me, give me
advice:
first your jokes, then your indifference
then the question whether I want to bite back, even without arrest.
A snarl
can be heard in the sound of your car starting, but something still
slumbers between us. Are
you in any way prepared, I think as I turn around, to continue
watching as I unzip my
jacket, to investigate which laws you think I might be breaking?
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