Poem
Peter Verhelst
UTOPIA
In the bronze foundry the orange sun quivers, a storm of sparks over the mould that is beingfilled with liquid metal, a thousand-year statue
on the empty square: utopia. Its form visible everywhere – behind pillars, in the dark corner,
in traumas, monuments, bodies left on the street, folded flags.
After centuries of utopias, utopia only represents itself.
There is a hole in the form of a building on a square
in the form of a hole, designed to let as many bodies as possible disappear in geometric order
under the approving eye of the bronze horseman, he
who watches over us.
In this utopia the walls of utopia tear open. Slow is the statue’s fall, from plinth to ground.
The statue is pounced on,
dragged to the river by dozens of hands.
The time has come to bring down walls, to follow leaders home
and let fires be fires.
© Translation: 2021, David Colmer
UTOPIE
UTOPIE
In de bronsgieterij davert de oranje zon, gensterstorm boven de mal die volloopt metvloeibaar metaal, duizendjarig standbeeld
op het lege plein: de utopie. Overal de gestalte ervan zichtbaar achter zuilen, in de donkere
hoek, in trauma’s, monumenten, lichamen die op straat blijven liggen, opgevouwen vaandels.
Na eeuwen van utopieën representeert de utopie alleen nog zichzelf.
Er is een gat in de vorm van een gebouw op een plein
in de vorm van een gat, ontworpen om zoveel mogelijk lichamen geometrisch gerangschikt te
laten verdwijnen
onder het goedkeurende oog van de bronzen ruiter, hij
die over ons waakt.
In deze utopie scheuren de muren van de utopie. Traag is deval van het standbeeld, van
sokkel naar grond.
Het standbeeld wordt besprongen,
door tientallen handen naar de rivier gesleept.
De tijd is gekomen om muren neer te halen, leiders naar hun huis te volgen
en om vuur vuur te laten zijn.
© 2019, Peter Verhelst
From: Zon
Publisher: De Bezige Bij,
From: Zon
Publisher: De Bezige Bij,
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Poems of Peter Verhelst
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UTOPIA
In the bronze foundry the orange sun quivers, a storm of sparks over the mould that is beingfilled with liquid metal, a thousand-year statue
on the empty square: utopia. Its form visible everywhere – behind pillars, in the dark corner,
in traumas, monuments, bodies left on the street, folded flags.
After centuries of utopias, utopia only represents itself.
There is a hole in the form of a building on a square
in the form of a hole, designed to let as many bodies as possible disappear in geometric order
under the approving eye of the bronze horseman, he
who watches over us.
In this utopia the walls of utopia tear open. Slow is the statue’s fall, from plinth to ground.
The statue is pounced on,
dragged to the river by dozens of hands.
The time has come to bring down walls, to follow leaders home
and let fires be fires.
© 2021, David Colmer
From: Zon
From: Zon
UTOPIA
In the bronze foundry the orange sun quivers, a storm of sparks over the mould that is beingfilled with liquid metal, a thousand-year statue
on the empty square: utopia. Its form visible everywhere – behind pillars, in the dark corner,
in traumas, monuments, bodies left on the street, folded flags.
After centuries of utopias, utopia only represents itself.
There is a hole in the form of a building on a square
in the form of a hole, designed to let as many bodies as possible disappear in geometric order
under the approving eye of the bronze horseman, he
who watches over us.
In this utopia the walls of utopia tear open. Slow is the statue’s fall, from plinth to ground.
The statue is pounced on,
dragged to the river by dozens of hands.
The time has come to bring down walls, to follow leaders home
and let fires be fires.
© 2021, David Colmer
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